


Dancers in the Dark

by matty_macgregor



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Drug Use, M/M, Mentions of Other Voltron Paladins, Minor Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Please mind the warnings at the beginning of every chapter, Prostitution, Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, Very Very Slow Burn, Violence, keith and shiro are endgame but it takes a while for them to get there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2019-11-13 02:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 48
Words: 274,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18022958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matty_macgregor/pseuds/matty_macgregor
Summary: Keith wanted only three things from life: earn a living as a prostitute, make some side profit by dealing drugs with Lance, and perhaps have a chance with handsome policeman Shiro. Due to a series of unforeseen events, he finds himself stuck in the middle of a small-scale war that would decide the fate not only of Earth, but of the whole Galra Empire.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome! Thank you for choosing to read this story!
> 
> **This is a pretty dark story so please, please, heed both the tags and the warnings at the beginning of every chapter!**
> 
> Although the endgame is Sheith, Keith will be involved with other people. Since he is a prostitute, it goes without saying that he sleeps with clients. Furthermore, he has an ongoing friend-with-benefits relationship with Lance. Lance is a drug dealer so there will be mentions of drug use and alcohol consumption. There will also be a good amount of violence. I will try to give appropriate warnings at the beginning of every chapter so the readers will know beforehand what they're getting into. Don't hesitate to tell me if you think I missed something!
> 
> I want to warmly thank salted_shinju for proofreading this monster and for helping me with ideas! Another thanks goes out to Azulead for their constant praise and encouragements! 
> 
> Last but not least, please keep in mind while reading that English is not my first language. I thank you for your understanding.
> 
> The story will be updated on Wednesdays and Saturdays. I will try to post a notice in advance in case I cannot make it.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was easy to see that the two guys standing in front of them were new to this business. Even though they were trying to appear smooth and cool, their body language betrayed their nervousness; sweat beaded on their forehead and they couldn’t keep still. Their eyes roamed the private room as if in search of some help, going from the low table covered in all types of drugs and booze to the two other persons sitting on the couch. The huge window behind the amateurs showed a view of the club on the floor below where stroboscopic lights pulsed, painting the white walls of the private room a rainbow of colours. The music vibrated through the concrete, more felt than heard at this level. An array of people moved on the dance floor, none of them sober, a mix of the desperate and the fun-seeking. Men, women, humans, aliens, there was no need for distinction here: with a little money in their pocket, anyone could get anything that stoked their fancy without question asked. The world outside was undoubtedly going on about its business while, inside, it was as if time itself stopped. Without windows, there was no mean of guessing the hour―it was always night here, the false darkness serving as an easy cover for any kind of dealings.

In the private room, two of the young men kept on sweating whilst the two others watched on. They were pros at this, had been doing this for almost five years already. It hadn’t been easy to carve themselves a small piece of pie in the drug business that ran the underworld of the city, and competition had been fierce, what with new synthetic drugs being created every day. New ways of forgetting, new ways of having fun, new ways of being stronger or smarter came in all manner of substances nowadays: pills and powder and liquids and whatnot. They themselves preferred to deal with a more reliable electronic drug, the kind that sent jolts of electricity through the brain to make it believe anything. It was still a tiny niche of their business considering the fact that not everybody could afford said fancy mean of escape, but it was one they wished to expand as soon as they got over the production problem. Having only one reliable cook doing all the work meant their supplies were always running low while making it impossible to develop further. The man was already stretched thin, working overtime to meet the market’s ever-growing demand, so if they could find someone else to help, there was no telling how much their empire could broaden.

For the moment, however, they had to deal with the more mundane, boring day-to-day dealings of ordinary drug dealers. The two men standing in front of them weren’t serious competition, just small-time sellers who happened to encroach a little on their territory. Was it the beginning of a turf war? It was possible, yet unlikely.

Keith didn’t quite have to force himself to appear bored by the whole thing. He leaned against his partner, one leg thrown over the other man’s knees and his head resting on his shoulder. Lance, his partner, had an arm draped over his shoulders while the other rested on the backrest of the couch, looking all smooth and easy, as if totally unperturbed by what was happening. It was a pose they had rehearsed many times in the past. They were playing roles that had become second nature to them: Keith the smashed, dim-witted whore, and Lance the cool, uncaring drug dealer. It had fooled so many people that he had started wondering if their second nature hadn’t become their first. Still, it made it easy to deal with enemies and allies alike, who was he to object?

Lance did most of the talking, as was his right; this was his operation that these losers were trying to steal from, after all. Keith knew for a fact he didn’t want to hurt them. He was still far too soft-hearted for this kind of life―he liked to believe there was good in everybody. Most of the time, he was actually right. Other times, though, his generosity could have cost them everything, and this was one of the reasons why they worked so well together: Keith had the stomach for the unsavoury stuff. If he had to, he’d march to these idiots and make them regret the day they were born while Lance watched and tried not to wince. He didn’t think it would come to this, however, because Lance knew what he was doing and wasn’t half the idiot he pretended to be. He simply liked playing dumb in front of others, knowing it meant they would ultimately underestimate him. This little façade of his surely was the reason why he hadn’t been killed yet by one of the larger drug sharks that swam the city’s dangerous waters. Although he was merely overseeing a part of his brothers’ turf, he had carved himself a nice little kingdom and, through good business acumen and impeccable judgement in other people’s abilities, he had managed not to step on too many toes.

Keeping that undertaking alive still necessitated some hardness that he sometimes had trouble finding; he hated hurting others, hated hearing their sob stories about how they’d been forced into this and how they had no choice. He always believed them, gobbling up their lies and tears as signs that they were honest.

Keith listened distractedly, keeping an eye on the two guys from beneath lowered eyelashes. If he had to hazard a guess, they were about to start bawling; the younger one looked the tougher, but the older one’s lips were trembling with impending tears. They were saying how sorry they were, promising not to do it again. He actually believed them: neither had the balls to make it. As far as he could tell, they weren’t part of any crew of the drug lords he knew, especially not any of those who’d recently been making overtures at Lance. They were probably what they claimed to be: two idiots who’d been caught slinging some powder on a low-enough scale that them being caught wouldn’t have any impact anyone. If anything, they had come across their small stack by chance alone, stumbling upon a dead drug mover and stealing his stuff. They certainly didn’t have the hardened look about them that Keith had come to associate with the harsh life of the underground; drug movers started in that business at a very early age. The younger the better, as the saying went, for it was easy to win a child’s trust and loyalty. Those two didn’t fit that profile at all―they were just college kids caught at the wrong place at the wrong moment by one of Lance’s street crew.

When Lance offered them a job, Keith had to refrain himself from rolling his eyes; of course that idiot and his bleeding heart would take pity on these cretins. They didn’t need a job, they needed a good, firm kick to set them on the straight path again. Lance’s family owned many legit establishments and he was always too happy to help those in need by sending them there. As expected, they thanked him profusely, bowing and sniffling and making a general embarrassment of themselves in the process. Keith observed as they did so, watching the folds of their clothes for any concealed weapons just in case. They had been fooled in the past, after all, and he didn’t want it happening again, didn’t want to watch Lance get shot again or have to drag his bleeding body to the nearest hospital, praying all the while that the doctor in charge of the ER wouldn’t ask too many questions. It had happened thrice and he’d be damned if he let it happened again. He had been the one who’d been knifed once, a huge gash across the kidneys that had bled so copiously he’d thought he’d die of blood loss. The scar left behind was large and ragged, not pretty to look at, and a reminder that they couldn’t afford not being smart about this.

The two blokes had no concealed weapons on their person; if they were two rich kids looking for a taste of the real life as he suspected them to be, they certainly had no idea where to get any weapon larger than a steak knife. They were lucky to have been caught by Lance’s gang, otherwise they’d have found themselves with cement shoes at the bottom of the river before the night was over. Even worse for them would have been to be caught by the Galra patrols that hunted about the streets of the lower side of the city―nobody ever came back from those prisons, not even kids with influential parents.

The moment they left the room, the opening of the door allowed the loud music to fill the silence. Keith had no doubt they’d trip over themselves in their hurry to get back to their parents, swearing high and low never to cross the bridge into low town again.

“Stop offering those losers jobs,” he said after the door was closed again.

Lance laughed and patted his knee. “It’s the best way to make sure they don’t come back!” He added slyly: “And you know what they say about keeping your enemies close.”

“And your friends closer,” Keith finished for him. “That saying doesn’t make any sense to start with. Anyway, be grateful these two were just kids, you might not be that lucky next time.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know the others have been trying to encroach into your territory; you have to start pushing back or you’ll lose every inch you’ve won.”

Lance laughed, then pulled him closer and kissed his hair. “Keith, stop worrying so much! I have things under control! As soon as we get Hunk’s new drug fully launched, nobody will dare do so much as to look in our direction!”

Keith sighed, mollified despite himself: “We’ll need at least one more cook for it to happen; Hunk himself said that he cannot overlook the whole production on his own. I don’t really understand all his jabber about programming and stuff, but it still makes sense.”

“Why do we call him a cook, though?” Lance asked, totally missing the point. “I mean, he doesn’t cook, he programs the drug, right? Why not call him a programmer?”

“I don’t know, because the guys who make the drugs have always been called that way? Who cares anyway?”

“Meh, I’ll ask him what he prefers to be called. Good job tonight, though!”

“I did nothing.”

“You sat there being pretty and stopped yourself from rolling your eyes too much.”

He scoffed. “If that’s what you think I usually do at those meetings! I’ve to make sure to protect your sorry hide should one of these bastards pull a knife on you again!” He untangled himself from the other and got up. “You really ought to start carrying a gun on you.”

Lance made a face. “Those are more than forbidden, it’s not worth the risk. Beside—” He rummaged between two cushions of the couch and pulled, wonders of wonders, a gun out. He grinned. “You really think I’m that stupid?”

“Stupid enough to sit on a loaded gun with the safety removed, yeah! It could’ve fired up your ass, you moron!”

“You really should stop worrying, Keith. Believe it or not, I know what I’m doing sometimes.”

He rolled his eyes so hard he thought he might get a glimpse of his own brain. “Whatever, I’m going downstairs. Wanna come?”

Lance hid the gun between the cushions again and got up with a smile. “If you promise you’ll not leave me hanging after grinding against me for the whole evening like you did last time, sure.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -Mention of murders and dead bodies.

 It had to be around six by the time Keith woke up. It was one of the mornings he liked, the kind when nothing hurt so he could lounge in bed. Lance slept on beside him, his breathing even, his skin flushed with the heat of the room. He’d thrown an arm over Keith sometimes during the night, warm and protective and surprisingly comfortable. Keith inched closer almost against his will—he didn’t like cuddling much, yet there was no denying how nice it felt.

It had stopped raining during the night. Judging by the hum coming from the sky docks, Keith could tell the clouds had also been cleared away; if they were lucky, there would even be sunshine. Rain, sun, snow, clouds or not, he didn’t really care―his was a life spent indoors, in dark corners and away from prying eyes. The weather mattered little to him, except perhaps as a minor inconvenience because he couldn’t ride his hoverbike to get through the town. He hated having to use the public transportation, for the skymetro was a real pain in the ass; he couldn’t stand the stench of many races packed together. Some of them had apparently never heard of soap or clean water while others’ personal space seemed to include that of their neighbour. There was no other options for cars were simply too expensive and too conspicuous. Besides, very few people could afford them, especially in this part of town―someone who owned one was bound to have it stolen or torn to pieces in a matter of days. Keith didn’t like the thought of spending a huge amount of money simply because he didn’t like to sit beside some big, smelly alien. It seemed wasteful. Anyway, he wanted to keep every credit he earned in case of trouble.

He sat up, running a hand through his tangled black hair. The alcohol from last night had long since been sweated out, leaving him feeling sticky and disgusting. For a moment, as he glanced at his sleeping companion, he had a mind to just go back to sleep; there was nothing pressing to do this early, therefore sleeping in wouldn’t inconvenience anyone. He just couldn’t, though―he didn’t like wasting time in bed doing nothing when he wasn’t on his own. Now that his five hours of rest were done, any more would just be being lazy. It didn’t matter that it had become easy to sleep next to Lance, that it had become a synonym of safety, of warmth; he didn’t want to feel like this, so he got up, his restive, contemplative mood vanished.

His bare feet made no sound while he tiptoed around the room to pick up his clothes. Lance didn’t twitch when he carefully opened the sliding door before slipping out. The flat was chilly this early in the morning and there would be no heat before winter. Until then, they had to make do with thicker clothes and blankets.

Their living space was situated in one of the worst neighbourhoods of low town, where most of the climate refugees gathered after having been processed. It was a depressing, rundown place made worse by the presence of the numerous crime syndicates. It was smelly, the streets were full of potholes, the buildings were barely standing up, and the businesses did okay only when they were affiliated with one street gang or the other. Just like every other around, their place had minimal running water and ran on an illegally-bought generator for electricity. The painting on the walls peeled, the ceilings gave the impression that they would cave in at any second, the furniture was more than second-hand, a broken mishmash of whatever could be found anywhere. They had no washing machine, little hot water, and they had to use deadbolts on their front door to avoid being robbed. It was home.

Of course, they could have afforded better if they had wanted to―on his own, Keith could have bought a flat twice that size with at least no safety hazard, and Lance could have purchased the whole block. Doing so would attract too much attention, however―it was very important that they both maintained a façade so as not to alert the local authorities of their true whereabouts. There was no way a class-three prostitute like Keith could afford anything on his own, and neither could a loser like Lance who flitted from part-time job to part-time job. Together, it kind of made sense.

Keith stopped by his own bedroom to pick up some clean clothes. He then spent exactly three minutes in the shower, washing both his hair and his body while trying not to shiver under the freezing spray of water. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had the luxury of at least lukewarm water; they were trying to keep the generator running to a minimum, which meant showering in cold water, even in winter. Lance got through this by telling himself that cold water did wonders for the skin. Keith had more trouble with such nonsense―he didn’t care about his skin, he cared about not breaking one of his teeth by gritting them too hard to stop their chattering.

By the time he got dressed, he was shivering despite his best efforts. Droplets of water ran from his hair down his neck as he towelled it dry. In the back of his mind, he could hear Lance’s taunting voice telling him to cut his mullet, that this hairstyle hadn’t been fashionable for decades. _Mullet_ used to be his nickname of choice back when they were still two stupid teenagers in the corridors of a packed high school. At that time, if anyone had told him he’d end up being Lance’s partner in crime and bed mate, he’d have bashed their skull in. Still, the difficult truth was that neither of them would have made it to be this old without the other. It sucked and it was kind of humiliating, but it was true nonetheless. Keith looked at his face in the cracked mirror of the bathroom, looked at the long, thick scar that marred his right cheek from jawline to cheekbone, and sighed. Nope, no way in hell he’d have survived on his own, not in such a world stacked against him, stacked against orphans, drifters, and loners; one had to have a family to survive here, connections, friends, some anchor to another person to make it. He had had none of that back then, only two acquaintances that could do little to actually help him. Thanks to fortunate coincidences, Keith had stumbled upon Lance and been adopted by his family.

And they’d somehow survived. Against all odds, they’d made it to twenty-two with only a few nasty scars to show for it.

As he did every morning, Keith turned on the computer to the city’s news while he made himself breakfast with coffee. He wasn’t that interested in what was going on around, but it was always smart to know of the happenings; after all, important drug busts were mentioned on the news with anchormen all too eager to share police insights. That way, he could learn which one of their rivals had taken a plunge and how Lance and his gang could profit from it. It was also through the news that things like new regulations, new rules, and new laws were passed on. Keith and Lance did their best to keep abreast of those things, if only so they wouldn’t get into trouble for something ridiculous like forgetting to pay a new tax on fuel. Keith’s field of work was especially heavily regulated to avoid the spread of sexually-transmitted diseases, illegal sex rings, things like that. If he did miss an appointment to the doctor, it would show on his file on the intergalactic channels and make finding himself new clients difficult. This suddenly reminded him that he had to pay the annual fee for his prostitution licence—five hundred bloody credits it cost just to be able to earn a living.

He checked his PDA while he sipped his coffee; if anyone had requested him by using his file on the IG, it would show there under a note on his calendar. It made things easy for him, far more than for those class-four and class-five prostitutes who actually _walked_ the streets to find themselves clients. He could just sit at home and wait for an appointment to be made. It was one of the many reasons why he worked hard at keeping his things in order; if he got declassed from three to four, not only would his file be removed from the city’s directory for prostitutes, he’d have to actually live up to the name of street walker. It’d also make it much more difficult for him to cross the bridge into upper town. As such, he did everything in his power to keep his act clean.

The commercials finally ended after a long, long litany of them. Keith focused his attention back on the screen that took most part of a wall of the living room. His porridge tasted bland, but he forced himself to eat it nevertheless—it wasn’t as if he had the skill to cook much, which meant the taste of his meals ranged from okay to weird.

“There’s still coffee,” he said absent-mindedly when he felt Lance’s presence behind him, his eyes still on the screen.

“Hmm. ‘Morning to you too,” Lance mumbled after a quick kiss to his temple. “What are you doing up so early? Have you got work?”

“No, just not tired anymore.”

Lance hummed tiredly before making himself some coffee. Keith glanced at him: eyes half closed, brown hair mussed, shirt put on inside out, feet dragging on the old linoleum floor... Poor guy truly wasn’t a morning person.

“ _On the local news, two bodies were found late last evening by Neighbourhood 8-A, a neighbourhood mostly inhabited by climate refugees_ ,” the anchorwoman was saying.

They both perked up at this. Neighbourhood 8-A, this was where they lived. Lance had lost that half-asleep look and his eyes had sharpened. Keith had a bad feeling about this―their little corner of the city often made the news. He was suddenly reminded of the two idiots they had interviewed last night at the club.

“ _In what seems to be related to cartel business, two young people from Neo-Metropolis University were found dead by gunshot wounds. Misters Coy Waller and Vahid Palmisano, both students on their second year at the intergalactic business doctorate, were considered by their friends to be party-goers and thrill-seekers. In a bid for fun, the young men left the safety of their campus to get a look at life on the other side of Unification Bridge. It is believed they might have partaken into party drugs and got caught with a large amount of the highly illegal enhancer called_ Buster _. The local authorities have rightfully handed the case to the NMPD’s drug enforcement branch, the DEA. Our colleague is right now at the police station to interview DEA lieutenant Takashi Shirogane.”_

Keith and Lance exchanged a horrified look as the image on the screen changed from the news’ studio to show a few pictures of the crime scene. On them, the mangled bodies were easily visible, left uncovered to be used as a warning to anyone watching. They were the two guys of last night, no doubt there—Keith recognized their clothes. He’d been right; these idiots weren’t drug dealers, they’d just been dumb kids seeking some thrill who’d found themselves at the wrong place at the wrong time.

He barely had time to process that the view changed again, this time to show a large, brick building situated in a clean neighbourhood. With its straight streets, sidewalks, cars parked by the curb, lampposts, and not nearly as many advertisements posted everywhere, this place that was just on the other side of the bridge looked to be on another planet entirely. Policemen in neat black uniform were seen going to and from the police station while the female reporter in a crisp jacket stood on the sidewalk, looking far too bright for this early morning. There was a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a police uniform beside her who looked a tiny bit ill-at-ease as she talked to him, inquiring about what had happened last night—it was obvious he didn’t like standing in front of the camera like that.

“Holy shit, it’s your Shiro!” Lance exclaimed, as if Keith didn’t have eyes to see that for himself. “You never told me how bloody huge he was!”

Keith grumbled, unable to tear his eyes from the screen. This was Shiro all right. A part of himself wondered why he was surprised that the reporter would be talking to him; Shiro was a rising star at the DEA, after all, the poster child of everything righteous and law-abiding, the guy big and strong enough to have made it into the CTAC who had chosen law enforcement instead. Keith wondered what his numerous fans would think if they learned that their idol was friends with a class-three prostitute from across the bridge, that, not so long ago, said class-three prostitute had had a spare key to his flat and have his ex-boyfriend cook him meals.

Keith couldn’t focus on what Shiro was saying; just like the reporter, he could only stare at him. He hadn’t seen him for a while now, what with the two of them being busy with their own lives. He also had to take into account Shiro’s mysterious disappearance that had left him with a missing right arm and a huge scar on his nose, a traumatic event that had kind of dug a gulf between them. Keith had no idea how this had happened―Shiro steadfastly refused to tell him anything, afraid for some reason that it might hurt his sensibilities. Shiro knew the kind of job he did, yet he still saw him like an innocent child, the same child he’d met all those years ago. Keith’s heart hammered inside his chest as he watched, watched Shiro’s small, embarrassed smiles and his smart brown eyes as he patiently explained to the reporter something she obviously didn’t understand. His charisma oozed from the telly—even Lance wasn’t left unaffected by it. There was a magnetism to the man, a charm enhanced by the fact that he wasn’t even aware of its existence; he had absolutely no idea of the hot shit he was. Last time Keith had talked to him, he had still refused to believe that his boss hadn’t made a mistake by making him lieutenant despite being twenty-nine.

On the screen, Shiro was saying: “ _I’m very proud to announce that we will redouble our efforts to end the drug cartels. Emperor Zarkon himself has been in touch with our chief, Samuel Holt, and he assures us that no expense will be spared toward that end. We—_ ”

“Bloody hell,” breathed Lance, white in the face. “We’re in trouble! We’ve got to—”

Keith grabbed his arm as he was turning away: “No, we do nothing! Can’t you see it’s their plan? They announce some big push against us in hopes of seeing us run! We have to lay low, Lance! If we’re caught scrambling or moving around too much, they’ll be onto us!” He gritted his teeth. “It’s all too neat, I’d bet my left arm it’s all been planned—these two rich kids showing up here, getting themselves killed… don’t you see it?”

It took a second for this to sink in. After the panic had receded from the other’s eyes, Keith let go of his arm. “Damn, you’re right,” he muttered.

“I know. Look, pass the words to your brothers that they lay low too, then go to your uncle’s restaurant, ask him to hire you, just so that you look like you have a job.”

Lance sighed. “I hate working there! It’s hot and smelly!”

“Well, if you’re not happy, I’m pretty sure I could get you an accreditation to work with me.”

An exaggerated shiver. “Ew! Fine! I prefer washing dishes!” He got more serious. “All right, then. Let’s not move too much product until this dies down. The warehouse on 7th Street is almost empty, but the one on 19th Avenue has been restocked two days ago. I’ll call the lads there to tell them to hide everything.”

“How much product do we have on the street right now?”

“Hmm, a good deal. We know our sellers are solid. They won’t do anything stupid. We should weather this out easily.” Lance offered a smile. “Great job, Keith! You’re damn good at keeping your calm!”

Keith rolled his eyes. “That’s what you keep me around for.”

He returned his attention to the screen. The reporter was wrapping up her interview with Shiro while Lance called his team. The policeman was still looking kind of stiff, back ramrod straight, shoulders thrown back as if this were a military inspection instead of some interview on the news channel. Keith wondered how he would react the day Shiro’s team finally caught up to them and he was arrested. He’d been arrested once, by Shiro of all people. It had been for a minor offense—public drunkenness—he’d never forget the disappointment in the man’s eyes. The look had been enough to sober him up fully; a slap in the face wouldn’t have hurt more. He’d spent the night in the drunk tank with the other smashed people and, as soon as he’d been let go of in the morning, he’d apologized. He never did that, apologizing, but it had been necessary that time because Shiro had been worried for him. He worried too much about those around him. Keith had wanted to tell him that it wouldn’t happen again, that he’d be good, that he’d clean his act, except that he hadn’t been able to lie; he couldn’t make a promise he didn’t know he could keep. He was careful not to get drunk in a public place to avoid such unpleasantness, it just couldn’t always be avoided, not with the lifestyle he’d chosen. Shiro didn’t understand that―for some reason, one of the smartest guys Keith had ever met didn’t quite grasp how things worked out there.

This was one of the million reasons why he knew things would never work out between them.

“I’ll check on Hunk,” he said, getting to his feet. “I want to make sure he lays low.”

“Great. He just texted me asking if we can meet anyway. Ask him what he wants in the meantime. See you later?”

“Sure.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Thank you so very much to everybody who reads this! I hope you like this new chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter warnings:**  
>  -Talks of drugs.

Low town was never uglier than in the unforgiving glare of the morning brightness. Similar to some old whore too far gone to care, the sunlight revealed its pitted face, crevasses, and decrepitude. It showed the pathetic attempts at fixing that only made the unsightly parts all the more glaring. There was nothing pretty around here, not even the advertisement panels with their bright paint and fake models. The people were not worthy of a look either, not that early, not under such damning light.

Keith turned his face towards the sky, letting the weak sunrays warm his skin. He didn’t delude himself into thinking he was better than any of those out at that hour―he might not be a drunk sleeping by the curb or an addict asleep by a bin with a needle stuck in their vein, but he had his own ugliness too. Like the other residents of the south shore, he’d been polluted by its murkiness: he’d drunk of its brackish water, eaten of its rotten fruits, lived in its black bowels, and breathed its corrupted air. He’d been showered in its poisonous rain and he’d dreamed of someplace else where the sun shone more than a handful of days a year. He was indeed as ugly as the rest of them, all those poor souls whose strength and vigor had been sapped by low  town’s vileness.

With a sigh, he turned east, his feet dragging him further into the belly of the beast. It had to be nearing seven in the morning, awfully early for the drunkards and junkies. Some of the bars on his path were still opened, still doing business, whereas others had kicked their last patrons out. Once in a while, he had to actually step out of the way of someone lying prone on the street, either inebriated or smashed or dead. Had he been a thief, it would have been the perfect opportunity to pick some pockets: he spotted credit cards and PDAs and even some loose change dropped uncaringly by their owner. The idea of stealing any of them didn’t cross his mind. He had a code of honour—he didn’t take what wasn’t his to take. The vague pity he felt for those human wrecks prevented him from stepping on their out-flung limbs; they were the lowest of the low, those who had hit rock bottom and decided that hell, why not dig deeper? He knew, he’d been there as a teenager. He had no doubt that some women would disappear only to find themselves tied to a bed somewhere, their body to be used by bastards who got off those who couldn’t say no. This was the way of the world, Keith had learned at a young age.

As he walked, he kept an eye out for police patrols. After the interview with Shiro, the neighbourhoods on this side of the bridge would soon be crawling with policemen. The death of two well-off kids was too sensational for it to be swept under the rug; there would be a full-blown investigation, and Keith didn’t relish the thought of men and women in uniform trampling about his turf. He himself had very little to fear―with prostitution not being illegal, so long as nobody tattled on his sideline, he should be all right. That meant little in itself, however; low towners didn’t have many rights under the unforgiving eye of the two-way law. Things didn’t work the same for those unprivileged and for those on the other side of the bridge. Here, looking sideways at a police officer could get you a beating whilst someone with money could spit at a law enforcer and get away with it. He could consequently get arrested simply for being on the wrong street corner.

It didn’t take long before he spotted the first police cruisers―the big black-and-white cars stood out like golden teeth in a rotting mouth. Keith couldn’t help slowing his pace a little to get a glimpse. There were two of them parked in front of a laundromat, one of the few legit businesses that made some profit (because, believe it or not, even bums liked to wear clean clothes). Two policemen and one policewoman in black gear stood together, head bent over the holoscreen of a PDA that showed a map of the block. Keith narrowed his eyes, trying to see what had been highlighted on it, but he was too far away and getting closer would bring him to attention. He continued on his way, disliking having to turn his back to these people. He didn’t want to be similar to the other low towners, didn’t want to be biased or hateful towards authority, yet he couldn’t help it: the need to be wary of all those pretending to want to selflessly help was braided in his DNA. It sucked since Shiro was a policeman and certainly one of the best persons he had ever met, though that didn’t mean much considering the fact that he didn’t trust many of those he worked with, especially those in other departments.

The police presence in low town had sent a ripple through the streets; Keith found them to be much more peaceful than they would otherwise have been. He didn’t spot anyone he knew—Lance’s message had apparently gotten through to most of his crew. He saw some familiar faces—street walkers and petty thieves and legit workers who didn’t want to be caught in shady business. To his surprise, he even spotted one of those android sex dolls that looked deceptively human still not quite enough to fool anyone. This one was a pretty young woman, her body far too perfect to be that of a flesh-and-bone human. He gave it a wide berth—those dolls gave him the creeps. Although they were rumoured to perfectly mimic human emotions, he saw no glimmer in their eyes. They looked similar to ordinary dolls, the same kind Lance’s niece played with, only adult-sized. Who around here had enough dough to pay for such luxury? Even if they were not humans and therefore not subjected to the same regulations, sex dolls (their owner, actually) were considered class-one prostitutes, the most expensive kind, and understandingly preferred to work on the other side of the bridge. The most popular prostitute of Neo-Metropolis was in fact a sex doll named Petrushka that was all tits and huge eyes.

He put this out of his mind the moment a policewoman accosted him. He obediently showed her his PDA to allow her to check his identity. As she did, he observed her from beneath lowered lashes. Not human, this one; a Galra woman with purplish skin, weird, hairy scalp, and big enough that he had to crane his neck to look at her. Shiro had once told him that there was no Galra in his unit, so he supposed she must be part of the CTAC, the Colonial Tactical Assault Corps, more commonly known to be the bullies of the force. Those two murdered kids must have been part of some very important families for the CTAC to be deployed here. This worried him a bit—if being arrested by the DEA was one thing, being noticed by the CTAC was something else entirely; one warranted time in jail while the other meant either being sent to the farms, to a terraforming colony, or downright disappearing. He thus kept his head down and answered politely to the woman’s questions.

It didn’t last more than two minutes, but it felt much longer. He hated being noticed that way, hated being in the spotlight. By the time he was free to go, there was sweat on the back of his neck and his stomach felt too tight. He kept his face neutral, his eyes downcast. He walked away. His skin prickled and it was a challenge to walk steadily rather than run until he was out of the policewoman’s sight. Crap, he loathed feeling like that, feeling like he had to grovel in order not to vanish off the face of the Earth. The simple act of talking to the policewoman had made him feel akin to a criminal, like he’d been the one killing those two rich kids. He hadn’t missed the disdainful curl of her lip when she’d read his identity file—class-three prostitute, high school dropout, three arrests, no last name, no attach, half-breed. Heck, she’d probably have torn him apart merely for being half human assuming she could have gotten away with it.

Ten minutes later, he reached his destination: a squat, narrow building made of old, yellowing bricks. Its front windows had long ago been placarded and its façade was covered in fading graffiti. A sign above the door shining in bright yellow neon was the only indication that the place hadn’t been abandoned. This was in fact a computer repair shop that did good business despite what its shoddy exterior displayed. Keith remained standing there, hands on hips, surveying the empty street on both sides. There were no police cars here or any sign of police activity. He didn’t kid himself into thinking they wouldn’t come, they simply hadn’t made it quite that deep into the labyrinth of the neighbourhood. He kind of understood their reticence—this block was especially bad crime-wise; even though no more than a dozen streets long, it was turf to three drug cartels and one illegal prostitution ring. Not a day went by that someone wasn’t stabbed or left bleeding to death on the sidewalk. Just for this occasion, Keith had tucked his large dagger into the back of his belt, on display, rather than in his boot, so any asshole with a mind to attack him would see it and think twice. He wasn’t that worried—street toughs attacked those who looked lost, desperate, or drugged, and he wasn’t any of that. He was a known member of Lance’s crew, which warranted him some small protection.

Despite this, he didn’t linger―he quickly circled around the building by a narrow alley full of overflowing trashcans, grimacing at the stench. Behind the shop, a small space separated it from its neighbourhood building. Were he to extend his arms, the tip of his fingers would touch both brick walls. There was a claustrophobic feel to the place that he disliked, giving the impression that the two buildings would lean too far in and collapse on his head. He didn’t dwell on this.

There were some loose bricks that, when removed, revealed a very out-of-place high-tech touchpad. Pressing his hand on it, the scan read his fingerprints and, in a matter of seconds, a section of the wall rolled in on itself to expose a narrow door. Engineering at its finest. Keith silently pushed the door open, walked in, and everything went back to place as soon as he closed the door behind him.

Down the short corridor he went to emerge into a brightly-lit, medium-sized room full of equipment he couldn’t begin to name. There were holoscreens and computers and many other things he had no idea of their purpose. All he knew for sure was that a small fortune had been invested in this place and that, should it be discovered either by the police or by a rival gang, Lance and he were more than dead men.

Amongst the large towering pieces of computers was the master of the domain, a big man aptly nicknamed Hunk. He right now sat hunched over a table, squinting at something held delicately in his meaty hands. He didn’t look like much—not unlike Lance, he appeared to be anything but a drug dealer. Although big and hulking, he had not an ounce of malice in him. He was kindness personified, an excellent friend, a good person, a guy who cried over the cruelty seen on the streets and whose first passion was cooking. _Food_ cooking. Nothing lit his brown eyes up like the sight of an oven and the half-hour needed to bake a pie. Whatever ingredients he had at hand could be turned into a sumptuous feast. He was also smart, ridiculously so, with the knack of understanding technology and chemistry and physic the way an ordinary person understood basic maths.

“Hey, Hunk,” Keith called as he approached.

Hunk gasped in surprise and jerked, his chair creaking beneath his bulk. He looked up, eyes wide in near-panic, until he realised this was Keith standing on the other side of his workbench and not someone with vile intentions.

His face relaxed immediately into a large, welcoming grin. “Keith, hi! You doing okay? How’s Lance?”

“Everything’s fine,” Keith assured, resting his hip on the corner of the workbench to look at what the other man was doing. Despite it making little sense, it was always humbling as well as fascinating to watch a master at work. “Awful lot of action outside, though. You had no trouble coming here?”

“Nah, nobody looked at me twice.” He gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “I made cookies last night. Help yourself.”

Few things brought Keith true joy the way Hunk’s cuisine did. He didn’t have to be told twice to help himself to a cookie―he picked one from the pile and biting into it wasn’t dissimilar to tasting heaven. He had no idea how Hunk managed to make his food taste real, not like the tasteless goo most of them low towners ate on a regular basis. Flour and baking soda and even _chocolate_ were hard to come by, yet Hunk always managed to get his hand on some. He could have been a chef had he been born on the right side of the bridge.

While he chewed slowly to enjoy the sugary treat, Keith looked around the place. Hunk was the cook of the new drug Lance hoped to distribute, a drug that would rely on circuits and electric impulses rather than on chemicals. Hunk had once walked him through the process and Keith grasped the concept enough to understand the mechanic of the thing. He looked at the seemingly innocent stack of paper-thin random-access memory commonly known as RAMs. Those were about the size of his thumbnail and thin enough to be faintly diaphanous. On the drug market, they sold for around one thousand credits each, which was about ten times the price of the chemical enhancer Buster and thirty times the price of the madly popular hallucinatory powder Quick. The regular junkies couldn’t afford it for the moment, so it was mostly the regular folk of low town that bought it, with some of it being sold on the other side of the river. Lance was losing money on this, but he refused to close Hunk’s shop―he was certain this type of drug was the future, and Keith tended to agree.

As Hunk had explained to him, this drug was far more reliable than any other because it affected every user according to their need: the user took the paper-thin RAM, stuck it to the roof of their mouth (or anywhere else that had a direct contact with any mucous membrane), and waited for the connection to establish itself. The RAM connected itself directly via the user’s nerves to their nervous system, reading its electric impulses and sensing what the user needed, then worked to give it to them. It could boost its user’s abilities, intelligence, moral, or whatever else they needed. It enhanced dreams to make them more vivid or relaxed the user to allow for a full night of restive sleep. Keith had tried it once, of course, and although the drug had been in its embryonic stage, he’d had the best, most restive night of his whole life.

There were downsides that Hunk had been trying to work around. For example, the user might get violent headaches or nauseas after the drug’s effects had worn out. Keith’s restive night had turned into a morning of throwing up. Furthermore, despite the fact that its effects were addictive, the drug in itself wasn’t. This could be a problem in creating a long-term, stable core of users; Hunk might not enjoy the prospect of people getting addicted to his drug to the point that they were ready to sell their house for it, he was nevertheless smart enough to know it was required for it to succeed. He needed to find a way, a chemical component perhaps, to make it addictive.

Another problem was that the RAM was difficult to build: every step had to be done perfectly for it to work to its full potential. Thus far, Hunk could come up with about one hundred RAMs a week, not nearly enough for their goal to flood the market with their drug someday. In the end, their biggest challenge was to find a way to accelerate the creation process and Keith had absolutely no idea how they would do it.

“So, Keith, by the way, I had something to tell Lance,” Hunk began.

“Hm? What is it? You can tell me and I’ll tell him.”

When nothing came, Keith turned to look at the other man. Hunk was looking slightly embarrassed; his huge shoulders hunched and a sheepish look appeared on his face.

“You’re scary when you get angry,” he mumbled.

“What? Why in hell would I get angry?”

Hunk cleared his throat, his eyes directed towards the floor. “Uh, I might have found a way around our production problem. I mean, I might have found _someone_ around our production problem.”

Keith looked at him blankly. “What do you mean?”

“I—I, uh, I know a girl. She’s a genius with computers and stuff like that a—and she needs money, so I kind of mentioned what we’re doing and she wants to help!” Hunk winced. “Oh, no, Keith! You’re looking angry!”

“You _what_?! Hunk, did you really just talk to someone about you creating a new drug?!”

“I—I trust her!” Hunk assured, getting to his feet and holding his hands out in a placating manner. “I’ve known her for a long time! I promise she can be trusted! You can meet her—she’s coming by! She should be here soon!”

Keith groaned and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t be angry, not when Hunk was looking at him with huge brown eyes not dissimilar to those of a dog. Still, he didn’t know what to think of this; Hunk wasn’t stupid yet he could be naïve—there was no assurance that this girl wouldn’t betray them the second she caught wind of what they were truly doing. On the other hand, what could he do? This wasn’t his place to vet newcomers, this was Lance’s job; Lance was much better than him at judging people. His guts could be trusted, which had to be why Hunk had requested to talk to him instead.

Wasn’t the timing suspicious, though, what with the DEA and CTAC prowling about and now this new girl wanting to join their operation? Keith decided to wait until he at least met her to reach a conclusion. Lance trusted Hunk’s judgement, he reminded himself, so he should do likewise.

“All right,” he said with a sigh. “Let’s meet this girl.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -None

Half an hour later found Keith staring at the holoscreen of a security camera that overlooked the back alley. A person was standing there with a frown on their face. He thought this might be the girl Hunk had mentioned, but they didn’t look feminine at all. Furthermore, they resembled a kid, or at least someone far too young to be wandering on their own in those treacherous backstreets. He decided they seemed harmless enough; the camera wasn’t picking any metallic object on them except from what he guessed to be a computer tucked under their arm. The moment he told Hunk he could let the person in, it was as if he’d proclaimed the guy the best chef of Neo-Metropolis: he glowed with pride and pressed the button that opened the outside door.

The person walked in slowly, taking in their surroundings. Keith observed them covertly while Hunk went to meet them, vibrating with excitement. For some reason, they reminded Keith of someone―it was in the colour of their hair and the set of their jaw that gave the distinct impression nothing could stop them from doing whatever they wanted. He couldn’t place it—perhaps they had a brother who hanged about one of the clubs he liked to go to. Still, he supposed Hunk wouldn’t have allowed them in assuming that they had a family member in a rival gang; the guy was too smart for that.

Right?

He watched with narrowed eyes the two others going about the room, Hunk explaining every piece of equipment to the person who didn’t appear that impressed. Although their face showed boredom, Keith nonetheless read excitement in the way they held themselves to attention: their eyes behind their round glasses weren’t missing a thing and their fingers twitched like they were in a hurry to type down everything they were just seeing. They kept their comments to themselves for the time being, content with listening to Hunk’s explanations.

As soon as they got near the RAMs themselves, Keith blocked their path. The other man pouted whereas the visitor’s face showed annoyed. Undeterred, they craned their neck to see around him, yet he moved to hinder their view again.

“Who’s this guy?” they asked.

“This is Keith,” Hunk said, patting Keith’s back. “He’s Lance’s right-hand man. He’s a cool guy, though he’s serious about secrecy and stuff; he wants to make sure we can trust you before we show you our product.” Realising that he hadn’t introduced them, Hunk pointed towards their guest: “Keith, this is Katie Holt, but we call her Pidge. She’s a genius with computers and DNA and engineering. She has about thirty ideas that might help us!”

“Holt…” Keith said calmly, his hand inching towards the dagger slung through the back of his belt. “As in… Samuel Holt, chief of the _drug enforcement agency_?”

To her credit, the girl didn’t flinch―she kept staring up at him from above the rim of her glasses, daring him to pull the knife on her. Out the corner of his eye, Keith saw Hunk tense minutely.

“Hunk knows who I am,” Pidge said slowly, “and he still invited me. I don’t work for the police like my father and my brother. I’m here on my own behalf; I need the money, you see.”

He suddenly realised why she seemed vaguely familiar: she was the little sister of Shiro’s partner, a young man named Matthew Holt whom he’d met on a handful of occasions in his youth. Shiro and he had been partners ever since they’d joined the DEA and had both gone missing at the same time, only to reappear two years later with little explanation to what had happened.

While he covertly studied the girl, he saw the same intelligence in her eyes he had seen in her brother. In spite of this, he hesitated to let his guard down; Matt, not unlike Shiro, was a good, honest policeman who didn’t take bribes to look the other way. Taking all this into consideration, how was it that his little sister would actually seek out a life of crime?

Hunk rested a huge paw on Pidge’s shoulder and quietly explained: “Once her son and her husband disappeared, her mother hired the best PIs money could buy. She spent two years searching for them without finding anything, and now the family is on the verge of bankruptcy.”

Pidge added fiercely: “I know the Galrans took them, but I can’t prove it! Matt won’t tell me anything and neither will my father! They don’t want me to worry! Father has enough on his plate already without having to worry about money! I’ll make some, even if it means selling drugs!” Her gaze softened as her eyes fell on Keith: “I swear I won’t turn you in. What would I gain by doing that, tell me? Glory for my brother and my father? They don’t need it, they’re fighting the good fight. Don’t you think Shiro would’ve arrested you sooner otherwise?”

Keith understood, he supposed. Even though he had no blood ties to anyone anymore, there were people close to him whom he considered family: Lance, Lance’s own family, Adam, Hunk, Shiro. Were he in Pidge’s shoes, he’d be doing the exact same thing: he’d be finding a way to make himself useful. Wasn’t what he’d done after associating himself with Lance anyway? He’d chosen to whore himself out because it was easy―he could make good money without much effort. Better yet, it was a legitimate, legal occupation, not like selling drugs. Pidge was also choosing an effortless way to make money: provided that Hunk were right and she was indeed a genius at using computers, she’d be an idiot to let the chance pass to work on a drug that relied solely on programming.

“We’ll have to run this by Lance first,” Keith said grudgingly. “It’s not my decision to make.”

Hunk visibly deflated in relief. “Oh, good! I know he’ll approve!” He turned to Pidge with a huge smile. “That means you’re in, Pidge!”

For a second, nothing changed on the girl’s face. Then, the dark clouds covering her eyes appeared to be blown away: her features brightened, her mouth was pulled into a huge smile, and she threw her arms around Hunk, hugging him and squealing in happiness. Keith watched this transformation occur, surprised; a second ago, Pidge had looked ready to murder to be allowed on the team. Right now, however, she acted cheerfully, gleefully, already rushing to Hunk’s computer and eager to start working. Yes, there was no denying that she was Matt’s sister―she even had a near-identical haircut to the one he’d sported years ago, with the hair cut just below the ears and curling outward messily. Watching them talk excitedly in their programmer jargon, he could tell they knew each other well; they were comfortable standing into the other’s personal space. This made him feel somewhat better—Hunk wouldn’t endanger their operation, not when he had so much to gain from it; similar to Pidge and Lance, he was doing this job to help his family.

Keith decided to stick around a bit longer; he had nowhere else to be at the moment and it was nice to merely watch the other two get passionate over stuff. He ate one more of Hunk’s cookies, relishing its taste, refusing to think of Lance telling him his butt was getting too big.

“Oh, by the way,” Pidge said a couple of hours later, “there’s going to be a turf fight tonight.”

The two others perked up. Keith asked: “A turf fight, really? What about?”

A turf fight was an event that the different drug lords of low town had come up with to minimize the chance of an outright turf war. Turf wars had happened often in the recent past, leaving the crews diminished, crippled, and sometimes downright extinct. Many innocent people were also caught in the crossfire, which ultimately lead to police intervention; whole blocks of the city would be corded off while detectives took away the bodies and investigated what had happened. The south part of the city would afterwards be paralysed for weeks, the businesses, whether they be legit or illegal, grinding to a near halt. In the end, nobody profited from that, not even the soi-disant winners of the turf war. A decade ago, the leaders of the main drug cartels and other such shady characters had gathered to decide on a cleaner, more efficient way to settle territory disputes. Nobody had expected this to work, but so far, no other turf wars had erupted. Minor skirmishes and troubles were still aplenty, yet nothing of the scale that had been known before.

Pidge shrugged. “I’m not sure, I heard it was about supremacy of the north-west block of Neighbourhood 8-A?”

“How have you heard about that?” Hunk asked, wide-eyed.

She grinned and pointed to her computer sitting next to Hunk’s. “Chatter on the IG.”

“The north-west block,” Keith muttered, thinking out loud. “That’s Lance’s brother Marco’s turf. Do we know who’s after it?”

Pidge grinned even more, leaning towards him. “Oh, now you want me on the team to help you? You trust me?”

Keith scowled. “Find out what’s this about and I guess I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Taking this as a challenge, Pidge turned towards the holoscreen of her computer and started typing rapidly. Keith leaned closer, trying to understand what she was doing. He could use computers like any other normal person, though clearly not in the way she used hers; he had no idea what she was doing. The glare of the screen on her glasses made her look slightly unhinged.

“Ah, there!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “Okay, see, there’s this guy called Njàll who’s challenging this other guy named Minoru.”

“What!” Keith and Hunk gasped, making her jump.

“What? You know these guys?”

“Since this is Marco’s territory,” Keith explained, worried, “he should be called to defend it. He’s not mentioned anywhere?” The second Pidge checked and shook her head, he continued: “I’m guessing Njàll and Minoru are going to fight it off at the turf fight, and the winner’s going to absorb the other’s crew, which would make the new crew big enough to take on Marco’s.”

“It’s all very hush-hush,” Pidge said reflectively. “Those messages they’ve been sending are doubly encrypted; they really want to make sure nobody gets wind of what’s going to happen. And would it be bad were one of these guys to take over?”

“Very bad,” Hunk assured with a shiver. “Minoru’s ruthless and he doesn’t mind involving ordinary folks in his dealings. I heard he makes everybody on his turf pay him protection money. If they don’t pay up, he sends his goons to break their legs or something.”

“Still, Njàll’s worse,” Keith continued. “He doesn’t only deal in drugs, he’s also into human trafficking and he especially likes kids. Lance’s nephew and niece live on that block. He’s going to be pissed when he hears about that.”

“Lovely people,” Pidge commented dryly. “Well, that means we got to get invited to that turf fight, right? We got to protect Marco’s territory and—” She paused, checking something on her computer. “Ah, that’s what I thought! Supposing that we take over Njàll’s turf, we will have access to this!”

On the map that had just appeared on the holoscreen, she pointed one corner that Keith recognized as the turf Njàll’s gang occupied. He rarely went to that part of the city and therefore had no idea what she was getting at.

“Oh, jeez,” Hunk breathed, leaning closer to the screen in wonderment. “You’re right!”

“What? What is it?” Keith asked, puzzled.

“It’s a plant that synthesizes ineverium. By the face you’re pulling, I’m guessing you have no idea what that is. Well, to put it simply, it’s an element that can be added to the RAM to make it more addictive. It’s the only plant of low town, and acquiring it would certainly make your drug better. It might also solve the production problem. I’d have to get a good look at the place to be sure first.”

“I see…” Keith breathed. He stared at Pidge in wonder. “You’ve thought about this. You planned this before coming.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I knew I had to have some arguments for you to take me on. I didn’t plan the turf fight, but I saw it’d give me the right opportunity to show you what I can bring to the team.” She smiled excitedly. “So, are we going?!”

“We have to ask Lance first—he’s the boss. Maybe he’ll want Marco to go instead of him.”

Pidge frowned. “Why?”

“Because this is Marco’s ownership of the turf being challenged, not Lance’s.” Hunk sighed. “Lance doesn’t quite _own_ anything yet, he just… rules over some of his brothers’ blocks.”

Pidge hummed. “Ah. Well, maybe it’s time he gets himself a real, nice parcel of the city, don’t you think?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments left on the previous chapter! I hope you all enjoy this new chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -None.

“Keith, what’s that knife on your belt?”

He sent Lance the text he’d been writing and glanced up. Both Pidge and Hunk were staring at him in concentration, eyes narrowed as if he were presenting the biggest mystery of their life. He frowned, his hand going to the hilt of the knife he’d tucked at the back of his belt earlier today. He usually kept it inside his boot where it wouldn’t catch the eye of anyone too curious, not because carrying weapons was prohibited, but because it begged trouble to be seen with one.

“It’s just a knife,” he answered with a frown. “Why?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Pidge said, returning her attention to the holoscreen of her computer. “About the turf fight, I mean. From what information I’ve gathered on the IG, due to the fact that weapons aren’t allowed, everybody’s scanned and frisked at the entry. However, nobody really respects that, right? People always find ways to smuggle in stuff, thus the fight becomes unfair.”

“So?” Keith asked.

“So I’ve been scanning the room with the same parameters used for the scan at the entry of the Fightdome, and everything shows up on it. Except your knife.”

Frowning, he unsheathed his weapon to look at it. Hunk and Pidge joined him in his observation of the blade that had been with him since his youth. He vaguely remembered his father handing it to him not long before his death, saying it was a gift from his unknown mother. It had been with him from that moment on, more out of usefulness than out of misplaced sentimentality. During the time he’d lived on the streets, he’d often thought of pawning it. His body’s need for food and drugs and warmth had almost won against his rational mind—a knife to defend himself with was far more useful than a morsel to fill his empty stomach. In the end, that rational mind of his had won out and he’d gone to sleep behind a garbage can, hungry and in withdrawal with the knife tightly clutched against his chest.

He knew nothing of the object other than that it had apparently belonged to his mother. It was a sort of dagger about the length of his forearm made of a strange metal that shone purplish under the right light. The hilt fit perfectly in his closed fist. Neither sweat nor blood gathered in the material that felt similar to worn leather. Its edge held no matter what he did; he’d never had to whet it in all the years he’d had it.

Pidge and Hunk were staring at the knife with unmasked interest. He decided to humour them and handed it to them. A shiver ran down his back the second it left his hand. He suppressed it with annoyance—those two were friends, they could be trusted. While they observed and subjected the weapon to various tests near their computers, he waited to hear from Lance; they needed his okay in order to move on with their plan. Knowing him, he would hesitate to go forward―not only would he not want to step on Marco’s toes, he’d also fear sending his people into the Fightdome to confront two rival gangs. He had enforcers on his payroll, men and women whose sole job was to go into fights. They assumed the role of bodyguards and any other task that required muscles and strength. Despite this, he was ridiculously protective of them; he hated seeing them hurt and winced in sympathy when they reported to him bloodied. Still, if they wanted a chance to get their hands on that plant for Hunk’s drug, they’d have to risk one of their enforcers getting hurt.

“This is amazing…” Pidge muttered in awe.

Keith went to stand beside her. The screen in front of her showed columns and numbers and data in bright colours that made little sense. She pointed a few things at him, explaining that the composition of the steel of the blade was unlike anything she had ever seen. To show what she meant, she typed, and new columns appeared beside the others, the new ones to show the composition of more common metals. Keith saw it—the levels weren’t even comparable. It suddenly made so much sense that he nearly slapped himself at his own idiocy. Why had he never thought of it? He was a half-breed and his father had been human, which meant that his mother had to have been an alien. This wasn’t information he disclosed easily, though, so he kept the epiphany to himself. Mulling it over, he guessed the knife must be made of weird metals simply because it hadn’t been forged on Earth. Thankfully, neither Pidge nor Hunk asked embarrassing questions about it, like how in hell he’d gotten such a thing.

It was handed promptly back to him once the tests were over. A flash of relief ran through him the moment he slid it back into its sheath at the small of his back, where it rightfully belonged. A notification on his PDA announced that Lance had answered to his text, telling him he was coming over to discuss the situation of the turf fight. Keith sighed—Lance preferred to discuss things rather than take action. It was one of the things they often argued about; Keith preferred to punch first and ask questions later. To this day, he hadn’t been able to say which of the two methods worked best. Perhaps it was a blend of the two, the reason why they were still in business whereas many others had failed around them.

He wandered about the lab aimlessly, bored. What was happening outside? Were the policemen making arrests? He wondered whether Shiro was out there and what he would do should he stumble upon him―he had no proof that Keith had ties with the drug business, yet he wasn’t an idiot, he had to suspect something. Knowing him, he wouldn’t act on mere suspicion, he’d find concrete proof prior to bagging him. Keith didn’t fear prison. What he did fear, on the other hand, was disappointing Shiro: he’d rather face a thousand years behind bars than have his friend deem him a failure.

He jumped when he felt warmth engulf him. Pidge and Hunk were directing the beam of a strange machine on him and it bathed him in a yellowish light, giving him the impression that it was scanning him from head to toes.

“What are you doing?” he grumbled. “You know my knife doesn’t show on scanners.”

“That’s not what we’re looking at,” Hunk said, eyes glued to the holoscreen of his computer.

“Why are you only a class- _three_ prostitute?” Pidge asked. She adjusted her glasses, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing on the screen in front of her. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Keith raised an eyebrow at that. “Is that a serious question? I’m not educated enough and certainly not classy enough to be a class-two. What does it matter? It’s got nothing to do with the turf fight, anybody can get into the Fightdome.”

“That’s not why I’m asking. I just scanned your body, okay? And… you’re perfect.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I hope you’re not hitting on me, Pidge. No offense, but I’m not into girls at all.”

Pidge snorted, sounding offended by this. “Urgh, no, I’m not hitting on you!”

“What she’s trying to say,” Hunk intervened quickly, “is that you’re good-looking, Keith. I-I mean, yeah, of course you are, b-but… it’s not merely… the face? I mean—“

“Shit, you’re no better than her! What is it?!” Keith asked with annoyance. “Are you saying there’s something wrong with me?”

“No, no, of course not!” Hunk assured. His dark brown skin did nothing to hide the blush on his cheeks. He took a deep breath. “We’ve scanned your body and, according to the algorithms, you have perfect proportions. We ran your measurements for fun against those of the most popular prostitutes, and you’re better than them.”

Keith had absolutely no idea what to do with that piece of information―he knew he was good-looking, he simply had never cared _how_. Perfect proportions? Algorithms? This felt close to being flirted with by a computer. Hearing this from someone else might have annoyed him, though seeing Hunk’s flustered expression nullified any anger. Despite knowing that Hunk found him attractive, he also knew the man would never, ever act on it, not even should Keith himself initiate it; he enjoyed Keith’s beauty the same way Keith enjoyed his culinary skills.

“Anyway,” Pidge said, waving her hand. “I’m just saying; I never expected I’d meet what guys on porn sites call the perfect _bottom_. It’s all in the hips and waist apparently? I don’t see it—Keith’s too scrawny.”

“Could we please stop talking about this?” Hunk mumbled, keeping his eyes on the screen, face red. “Keith’s my bro and I don’t want to think about this!”

“I just don’t see it!” Pidge exclaimed. She sounded honestly puzzled by the whole concept, akin to a scientist discovering something new that didn’t fit in their worldview. “What does it matter? The hips? The waist? It’s all incredibly weird.”

“It’s easier to grab a guy who has a narrow waist and good hips,” Keith explained, deciding to humour her and wanting to see how far she’d push her questions. He ignored Hunk’s mortified expression. “Like, when you’re on your hands and knees and the guy’s behind you? You know what I mean?” As soon as Pidge opened her mouth to ask a question, he said: “Whatever, I’ll invite you to watch next time I’m with a client.”

She grinned. “Oh, don’t promise stuff you can’t deliver, Keith―I might take you up on your offer.”

“Why in hell would you want to see that?” Hunk squeaked in a tiny, horrified voice.

 “It’s not because I’m a pervert or because I particularly want to watch Keith… doing his stuff.” She leaned casually on the desk towards Hunk, looking serious. “That business venture I want to have with you, it’s my first option, but not my last. Supposing that this doesn’t work out for one reason or the other, I’ve been thinking about building sex dolls. Did you know this is the second most lucrative business in Neo-Metropolis, right after the drug trade? It even comes before weapon-designing and ship-building. You understand why I’m asking all those questions and observing Keith’s body? It’s not out of interest for him in particular. I’ve only been doing my research for what people appreciate, as I did with drugs. It turned out that men love guys shaped like Keith. It’s just a bonus that he seems to embody _everything_ that guys like.”

Keith suddenly felt what a strange insect must feel when observed under a microscope’s lens. Pidge’s explanation made sense, and he was honestly surprised by how thorough her researches appeared to be―she knew what she was doing, this one, she wasn’t going into this blindly. Hunk seemed to understand too, for his expression changed, going from embarrassed to understanding. Pidge returned to her screen, looking slightly miffed by the whole exchange. Keith had to wonder for a second whether or not she would actually be bold enough to want to watch him with a client. He doubted this would come to this, however; they were all feeling pretty confident about this new drug in the making. Were it equally successful as they expected it to be, she would no longer have to worry about money.

Half an hour later, Lance finally joined them. The poor guy looked harassed, like he’d had trouble coming over. He told them that the streets were crawling with policemen ready to interview any passerby and that he’d been stopped three times on his way over. More troubling was the fact that a few of their dealers had been arrested with drugs on their person. He couldn’t find out which of them it was; although he claimed to trust his people, the worry in his eyes made it plain that he still doubted some of them.

Hunk introduced Pidge to him and explained in short sentences what their plan for the new drug was. Lance listened intently, the goofy look on his face replaced by one of concentration. Keith could tell by the glint in his eye that he was very much interested by what he was hearing. Notwithstanding the fact that the technical jargon eluded him, Hunk and Pidge had a way of putting things that made sense. They went with him over the creation process, explaining in detail the material they would need and how they expected to acquire it. This was Pidge’s time to shine: she impressed all of them anew with how meticulous she’d been with her investigation. She’d found suppliers or ways to acquire the necessary material aplenty. She knew where to buy stuff, who to ask for it, and how to bend ambiguous laws to get it in a more or less legal manner. She showed them graphics along with spreadsheets covering the cost of production versus the expected profits. Listening to her, Keith almost saw in his mind’s eye the empire being built. Pidge assured them that she wasn’t aware of any other such drug out there on the market that could create competition. Electronic drugs did exist, though none of them had ever made it to Earth. According to her, the reason for it was that the drug cartels already in place were too conservative―they didn’t want to risk their money, reputation, and time on new things while the old stuff still sold extremely well. Lance’s willingness to try new things appealed to her, which was why she was very eager to join the group. Between Hunk and herself, she assured Lance that they could get the new drug fully launched within six months, perhaps much sooner were they lucky.

And that’s the instant they met their first snag: Pidge then talked about the plant they needed to acquire. Lance’s expression shifted minutely, but she didn’t know him well enough to stop pushing. She talked over him when he opened his mouth, assuring him this plant was the only one synthesizing ineverium, and Lance kept listening out of politeness.

Keith didn’t say anything, watching Pidge instead―despite her grand ideas, she was nothing more than a newcomer. He wanted to trust her, yet he was too old and had spent too long living on the streets to trust someone at first sight. She did appear genuine, did appear to be what she claimed to be: a girl desperate for money. He could clearly tell she _yearned_ for it by the way she kept returning to the profit they’d make out of the drug. Lance and everybody around him enjoyed their money without being greedy about it the way she was; were she to decide to reach for more than she could grasp, this could mean trouble for all of them. She might resemble a child, there was no denying she was exceptionally smart: she was sane and cool-headed and analytic and could no doubt outsmart all of them. Although she didn’t strike him like someone mean-spirited, he knew what desperation could bring even the nicest people to do. Lance seemed inclined to trust her for the moment, thus he decided to follow along accordingly―he’d simply keep an eye on her until they were certain of her loyalties.

“So,” Lance said once Pidge finally quieted, “you need that plant, and to get that plant, we need to gain the turf, and its ownership is being contested. They’ll fight it out tonight at the Fightdome. Is that it?”

Pidge nodded. “Yes, that’s the gist of it. If you tell me you want to go for it, I’ll hack into the Fightdome’s channel and get ourselves invited.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to.” Lance sighed. “All my enforcers are busy―with that crackdown by the police, we’ve got to be very careful, so I sent them to gather our dealers and movers. I’m not sure I can spare one of them for that.”

Pidge’s face fell. “What! Surely you can spare one goon! We need that plant! No ineverium, no drug!”

“I understand that, but our people getting caught by the police means they can be linked back to us. Even if they aren’t, it’s our whole distribution system that can be ruined. No distribution system, no way to flood the market with our drug.”

“Lance’s right,” Hunk chimed in gently, resting a hand on Pidge’s shoulder. “It was a good plan, and you’ve definitely found another plant in the area we could acquire, right?”

Pidge scowled. “Yeah, except that the second nearest to us is too small to be of any use. The others are miles away from here, and moving stuff from city to city is bloody expensive, it’s barely worth it. Believe me, I counted.”

“The problem is that we got no enforcer…” Keith mused out loud. “Pidge, you can get us in?” She nodded. “Hm. I’ll do it, then, I’ll fight those guys. You said so yourself that my knife doesn’t register on scans; I could smuggle it in with me.”

Pidge was staring at him, eyes huge behind her glasses—she apparently had no idea that he could kick butts as easily as he could take dicks. Lance and Hunk were looking uncertain; Hunk undoubtedly wanted to protest whereas Lance had a calculating look in his eye. Of them all, Lance knew him the best, knew he could beat the crap out of guys twice his size without blinking. They’d been in very tight spots together, so he knew what his friend was capable of. He was most likely thinking of the repercussions of such a fight―they would be walking straight into the lion’s den, literally unannounced. Nobody expected Lance to make a move for that turf; nobody expected anyone else to make a move since this was all done in secrecy. This was dangerous, and not solely for Keith who’d have to face at least two enforcers.

“It’s worth it,” Keith assured, nodding at Lance. “Just look at Pidge’s numbers—if we make it, we’ll soon be rich enough to buy ourselves some real legitimacy.”

Lance glanced anew at the holoscreen of the computer, biting his lip in indecision―he was undoubtedly seeing the number of green zeros in the profit column. Keith couldn’t blame him; it was all he could focus on too.

“It’s not worth it if you die!” Lance said. “And anyway, this is Marcos’ turf, not mine, I have to ask for his permission first.”

“He’ll give it to you,” Hunk said confidently. “Explain to him what’s going on and he’ll give it to you without hesitation.”

Lance groaned. He did step away from their group to call his brother. Pidge fidgeted while waiting and Hunk was looking anxious. They both wanted this to work, they both stood to gain tremendously should this work.

Keith also kind of hoped Marco would agree—Lance had been trying to expand his influence in low town, except that it was difficult to gain new ground without hurting either one of his brothers. What little turf he possessed had been handed to him by his uncle Pedro, the leader of their cartel. Despite Lance’s success, he yearned to prove himself to the rest of his family―if he could launch this new drug and it gained the massive popularity Pidge had predicted, he would become more powerful than any of the other drug lords, Uncle Pedro included. Lance didn’t want fame, he wanted safety. What he didn’t seem to understand was that being at the top didn’t mean safety, it meant he’d be forever challenged by pretenders. His uncle wasn’t quite at the top, though close enough to it that Keith had heard that assassination attempts had become a daily occurrence. He had to keep enforcers and bashers and bodyguards close to his person at all time. There was no peace for him, no safety at all; it was a small miracle he’d made it to the venerable age of fifty-six. On the other hand, a shit-ton of money, however acquired, opened countless doors. Keith had heard that other successful drug lords had bought themselves legitimacy, which meant they could afford to move to upper town and live there with the rest of the rich folk. This was Lance’s ultimate goal in all this: to acquire enough money to move his family to a better neighbourhood, away from all the shit of low town.

“All right, Marco says we can do whatever we want.”

Pidge and Hunk perked up immediately and Keith felt anticipation squeeze his chest. So, he was going to be fighting in the Fightdome. This was as exciting as this was scary. A part of himself yearned to prove that he was more than just a whore―the dome would certainly be full of blokes he’d met and a handful of them would even have paid for his services. He was ready to wipe the floor with them.

“You sure Keith can smuggle in his knife undetected?” Lance asked worriedly to Pidge. “Marco told me those scanners are pretty good. I’ve never witnessed a turf fight myself, but he says it’s vital that Keith brings a weapon. We’re going to be _frisked_ too, not only scanned.”

Pidge nodded seriously. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve tried every type of scan I can think of on this knife of his, and it never showed on any of them.”

“How does he smuggle it in, though?” Hunk asked. “Assuming that we’re frisked at the door, they’ll be sure to find it.”

“Loose clothes?” Lance suggested.

Keith rolled his eyes. “No, no loose clothes, not even a jacket―I can’t give these guys a chance to grab me.”

“We need to get the knife through the door undetected, that’s all that matters, right? It’s all right if people see it once we’re inside?” Pidge mused aloud. Lance nodded. Her face unexpectedly brightened and she turned a mischievous grin on Keith. “I think I’ve got just the thing! I need to fetch something from home. Give me a couple of hours.”

Lance eyed her warily. “What are you up to?”

She was already hurrying towards the door after snatching her computer from the workbench. “I said give me a couple of hours! Once I’m back, you’ll understand it all!”

Before they had a chance to object, the door closed behind her with a bang. Lance groaned and Hunk chuckled nervously under his breath―no doubt he was taking responsibility for her behaviour since he was the one who’d invited her here.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -None.

The city of Neo-Metropolis was divided between two shores: the upper and lower one. Back in the day, according to the history books, before the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse stroked, the land around the city had been nothing more than arid desert. Orange, grainy sand had expended everywhere as far as the eye could see, interrupted only by peak-like mountains. Life had been possible around here, if hard―the underwater rivers were difficult of access, especially with the old technology the humans had possessed at the time. There had been no river, lake, or any kind of body of water for miles and miles. The place had been home to animals and insects more than it ever was to humans. Four catastrophes had then occurred, close enough in succession to change the whole face of the Earth. Aptly named the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse after the creatures in some religious book, the Third World War, the first wave of climate changes brought on by the war, the second wave of climate changes, and the subsequent Galra invasion and conquest of the Earth led to the quasi-total destruction of the human race. Entire parts of the world consequently became beyond hostile for living. A large exodus followed, with millions of people moving to the more habitable countries, piling up in cities. Mankind rapidly lost control of its own planet; the Galras, with Emperor Zarkon at its head, became the new overlords. With their advanced technology, they rapidly and efficiently put an end to the storms—created by the climate changes—tearing at the Earth’s surface. Deemed lost, islands were left submerged. The Galras herded the humans like cattle into cities, most of them situated in regions that had once been deserts or too far from water to have avoided flooding.

Neo-Metropolis was such a city―the river cleaving it in two halves had used to be a deep ravine that had been filled when the flood occurred decades ago. The Galras had built the giant Unification Bridge to bring the two sides together. Emperor Zarkon and his retinue had elected to reside on the north side of the river, meaning that those who could built themselves a new life around them. This ineluctably pushed back those of lesser means, pushed them back until they had nowhere else to retreat except to the south. There, warren-like neighbourhoods were built where the climate refugees found themselves penned in. Despite the bridge, crossing from one side to the other was difficult at first before becoming downright impossible without a permit. The chasm between classes grew so deep that no bridge could span it. The Galras tended to prefer the people of upper town, those people who were strong and intelligent and rich and, most important of all, loyal.

An attempt to bring the north and south together had been arranged perhaps fifteen years ago: the son of the emperor, Prince Lotor, a self-proclaimed philanthropist, decided to bring all those living in Neo-Metropolis together in an attempt to reduce the gulf between rich and poor. According to him, the best way to achieve this goal was to make sure the next generation of children didn’t inherit their parents’ hatred for the other class He had a large school built right in the middle of the river, on a man-made island that would serve as reminder that togetherness was always better than isolation. Children from all walks of life were invited to enroll in that school, resulting in sons and daughters from rich folks from the north side studying alongside sons and daughters from climate refugees from the south side. The prince’s plan worked to an extent; rich parents ended up sending their children to his school in hopes of catching his attention, while poor parents sent their own brood for the sole reason that the tuition was paid for by the government. Few years later, the school was shut down.

This school was the sole reason why four people like Keith, Lance, Pidge, and Hunk had ever met: in ordinary circumstances, Pidge, the daughter of a rich upper-town family, would have never met Hunk, the son of a destitute family of climate refugees. The same went for Keith, who’d resided at a youth centre in upper town; without that school, he’d never have met Lance, and his life would have been very different.

The Holts, Pidge’s people, used to be a prestigious, well-respected family. They’d always been a family of geniuses, most of them working at some point in their life for the Galras themselves, the highest honour anyone could reach, up until Samuel Holt, Pidge’s father, broke that tradition. He’d been a scientist working on secret projects funded by the government when he’d decided he was tired of his job and joined the police force. It had been an odd move that had the unforeseen result of making him ridiculously popular with the citizenry; they saw a well-bred man doing the work of an ordinary labourer. His popularity grew even more upon joining the DEA―the good citizens of upper town were worried about the drug business and the low towners saw a dim hope of their neighbourhoods finally being cleared of the cartels.

Samuel Holt’s own son, Matthew, joined the force after graduating with honours from the academy. People joked that the DEA was becoming a family business, that it was the last remaining branch of the police left uncorrupted. Its popularity increased all the more once young policeman Takashi Shirogane was hired. Matt Holt and he became partners and, together, they were the stars of the force. They embodied everything the Galras liked: courage, heart, good-breeding, but also what the ordinary folk admired: kindness, understanding, a breeze of normalcy amongst the police force that was slowly being overtaken by the ruling elite. The three of them—Matt, Shiro, and Chief Holt—were not unlike celebrities: they were handsome, charismatic, and the news reporters loved to interview them. It was no exaggeration to say that every resident of Neo-Metropolis, no matter their race, appreciated them.

And then, three years ago, they suddenly disappeared. At first, nobody made any note of it—it was believed they had to be working on some undercover mission and had to be discreet. The moment Chief Holt’s wife, Colleen, started asking questions, the citizens realised that their heroes’ disappearance was abnormal. Nobody seemed to know where they had vanished to. No other policemen on the force had seen them. Mrs. Holt turned to the public, often giving interviews, asking for any information about her family’s whereabouts, and even offering a reward to anyone who could give her a lead. It was rumoured that she hired PIs, throwing her money right and left in the mad pursuit of the truth. The Holt estate on the north side was seized a year later, every inch of ground they had ever possessed sold off at auctions to pay their debts. Mrs. Holt soon found herself living in a small flat with her daughter Katie, on the brink of bankruptcy. In the end, no matter how she pressed, there was never any answer.

After two years of frantic searching, Matt, Shiro, and Chief Holt reappeared as randomly as they had disappeared. They did one interview for the local news channel, very briefly assuring the public that nothing foul had happened despite the physical evidences of the opposite: Shiro had lost his right arm, which had been generously replaced by the Galra, and there was a new thick scar on the bridge of his nose to go with the tuft of hair on his forehead that had turned from black to white; Matt had a scar on his cheek and the knowing eyes of someone who’d seen hell; and Chief Holt had lost weight, his body bony and his face far more lined than it had been before. The three of them had looked to have aged ten years.

Hunk explained it all to Keith and Lance, trying to make them understand why Pidge was so desperate to join them. Lance was already convinced while Keith had to admit that the story made a lot of sense; he knew Shiro and Matt had disappeared, had heard it from the mouth of Shiro himself. However, like Pidge and the rest of the world, he had no idea what had happened during the two-year disappearance. Shiro hadn’t volunteered any explanation and always said he didn’t remember anything. Keith knew his friend would never lie to him, yet he also knew that he had the stupid need to protect everybody around him. Keith suspected foul play, though he had no way of knowing who had done it. He told himself he’d talk to Pidge about this—maybe she had found something.

As they waited for her return, Hunk went back to work on the RAM. Lance texted away on his PDA, making sure his people were safe; similar to a mother hen, he’d have no rest until he’d heard back from all of them. Keith thought about contacting Shiro, perhaps ask him if he were part of the taskforce combing the streets of low town right now. Still, he refrained himself from doing so―he didn’t want to use his connection with the man to gain information. Instead, he checked his calendar, noting the days and times he’d be busy with clients. Business had been good recently, and it was rare that he got a break. To seemingly prove him wrong, his schedule was empty for the next three days. This could be for the best—he doubted a client would be glad to see him with a black eye following his time at the Fightdome.

Pidge finally came back. Although she had to be around twenty-two like all of them, she had the appearance of a young girl. The baggy clothes, round glasses, and short haircut made her unattractive. They also made it easy for her to navigate the streets safely—nobody would look at her twice. She had quite a mean scowl too, Keith had noticed, which helped keep any unwanted attention away from her.

She had a package tucked under one arm and was panting, giving the impression that she’d run all the way. Between gasping breaths, she told them that the streets had calmed for the moment. Many people had been bagged, the police vans packed full. There would be a lot of idiots sleeping in cold cells for the night just to be released in the morning for a lack of evidence against them. Only those caught with drugs on their person would be in for a bad time. Keith had to wonder whether any one of those incarcerated had been at the club last night when the two dead rich kids had visited. It was possible, though unlikely that they’d remember; he was pretty sure everybody had been smashed by the end of the night.

Once her breath had returned, Pidge handed him the package, the wicked gleam to her eye firmly back. “Here, this belonged to one of my brother’s girlfriends. It should do the trick. Put it on before you whine! It’s better than it looks, I promise.”

Lance and Hunk were staring intently as he tore the paper bag open and plunged his hand into—softness. He frowned, grabbing a handful of what appeared to be fabric, finer stuff than he’d ever felt. He pulled it out of the bag, honestly curious. For a moment, he had no idea what he was looking at; black and white fabric spooled from his fingers in a pattern that didn’t make sense.

“Is that… a dress?” Hunk asked, flabbergasted.

Holy shit, this actually looked to be a dress! He turned the fabric in his hands and held it out—crap, yeah, this was indeed a dress.

“What the actual fuck, Pidge!” he barked while Lance howled with laughter.

She grinned. “This is the solution to smuggling your knife. Put it on, you’ll understand!”

“This won’t fit me!”

She rolled her eyes and he wanted to argue, but what would be the point? He knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that the damn thing would fit him perfectly―she had taken his measurements earlier, hadn’t she? It wasn’t that he didn’t want to wear the dress, he just didn’t see the point of it; how did it make it easier to smuggle anything anywhere? He could tell that she wouldn’t answer until he obeyed. Even though there was slight amusement at the corner of her mouth, the seriousness in her eyes told him she knew what she was doing.

So, with a long suffering sigh, he agreed to put on the bloody garb. He didn’t care that Lance and Pidge watched him undress whereas Hunk hurried back to his work to pretend he wasn’t looking. He was thankfully allowed to keep his underwear, and he was somehow relieved that he’d thought to put on some that morning. The frills and weird layers of the skirt made it awkward to pull up his legs. At some point, Pidge even had to help him with the fastening and ribbons or he’d have torn it all to pieces. The fit wasn’t quite perfect—the front of the dress gaped a little too much over his flat chest and the hips were too tight. Otherwise, Pidge had been infuriatingly right: the dress fit him well-enough to be comfortable.

“What now?” he asked once he was dressed to her satisfaction.

“You look weird, but kinda great?” Lance said before Pidge had time to speak up. He wiggled his eyebrows. “Wanna step away for a moment? I’d love to get that skirt over your head!”

Pidge glared at him, which made him giggle nervously and take a step back. Keith sighed. After eyeing him critically, she said: “This’ll do. So, the knife. Just strap it to your leg, under the skirt. Nobody will dare frisk you there.”

“That makes sense…” he said slowly. “The problem’s that I can’t fight in a dress, it’ll hinder me.”

“It won’t. The moment you’re ready, tear off the skirt; its stitches are weak so it’ll come apart easily. You don’t mind fighting in your underwear, don’t you?”

“I’d fight naked if my life depended on it.” He gave an experimental tug at the skirt. “Why did your brother’s girlfriend have a costume like that anyway?”

She shrugged. “No idea, so Matt could have fun tearing it off her? Who knows? Anyway, she never wore it and we’ll be putting it to better use.”

He sighed. “I suppose.”

Strapping the knife to his inner thigh proved to be kind of difficult and, in the end, both Pidge and Hunk had to help, much to the latter’s embarrassment. It wasn’t perfect―the hilt was difficult to reach under the layers of fabric and it made walking awkward. Keith wasn’t sure how effective fighting would be in that dress even with the skirt ripped off. It was nevertheless better than nothing and none of them could come up with any better idea on such short notice. He simply hoped Pidge’s brother wouldn’t wonder where the dress had disappeared to.

Once this was over with, they started planning for the turf fight. Turf fights were hush-hush most of the time, the involved parties being the only ones told the details. Since Lance and his group intended on walking in mostly unannounced, they didn’t know what to expect and had no idea how many people would be there. The Fightdome, a sort of small arena with bleachers situated around a central square, could sit about one hundred spectators. Lance doubted the two belligerents would bring that many people; they wouldn’t want to risk antagonizing the other too much. According to Marco who’d witnessed three of those turf fights, the two gangs fighting over a turf would bring a dozen of their own people to act as witnesses. There was to be no fighting amongst the spectators and the result of the match had to be respected. It was almost like an unwritten law—what happened inside the Fightdome was solid. Whoever won was the new master of the disputed turf.

Keith hoped this still held.

Of course, Pidge nearly tore Lance’s eyes off when he said he didn’t want her to be present; Hunk had to actually restrain her physically to keep her from attacking the poor guy. Lance understandably didn’t want her to be in danger—she was a girl and things could get dangerous. To be honest, Keith thought she should be there; this was all her idea, after all. The world she was stepping into was ugly, and it was only right that she should get her own taste of its ugliness too. Furthermore, he could tell she had steel in her spine; she wasn’t a frail woman who’d faint at the first sight of blood. She was a tough nut to crack—roaming the streets of low town wasn’t for the faint of heart, and she did it fearlessly.

In the end, there was nothing Lance could do to prevent her from accompanying them. Short of ordering her not to because he was now her boss, she would follow them. In all honesty, it was Hunk Keith worried about the most―he didn’t like blood, didn’t like pain, and he didn’t like fighting. Despite this, he said he’d come, and the fierce look on his face told Keith he truly wanted to be useful.

Lance stood there, observing their small group with despair in his blue eyes. They made a motley band indeed: the tiny girl with the intelligent eyes, the big guy as soft as a puppy, the soft-hearted drug dealer, and the male prostitute in a dress not afraid to take on anyone.

Wonderful.

To add to the fun, Lance’s cousin, Panchito, joined them a few minutes before they had to leave for the Fightdome. Night had fallen by now, covering Neo-Metropolis in a dark, stuffy blanket. Panchito was the sole member of Lance’s family to know about their intent on creating a new drug. Although a bit on the clumsy side, he had a good heart and his loyalty had always been to Lance more than to his father Pedro. It was also thanks to him that Keith and Lance had found each other again some five years ago. At that time, Panchito had been nothing more than a disappointment to the rest of the family, a young adult unable to focus on his work. He’d toughened up a bit since then, except that, not unlike his cousin, he was too soft-hearted for the business. Right now, he was managing most of Lance’s warehouses, keeping an eye on the workers and making sure nothing went missing.

Of course, he gaped the second he saw Keith’s clothing, then nearly drooled— Keith could almost see the spit running down his chin. Hunk, who’d once before proclaimed himself the defender of his friend’s non-existent virtue, stepped between them. Pidge rolled her eyes, muttering _men_ in a disgusted tone under her breath.

“I really, really hope we’re not going to have to fight our way out of there,” Lance said with a sigh. “We’re dead men otherwise.”

“At least your corpse won’t be wearing a dress,” Keith answered.

Lance laughed, all gloomy attitude gone. He wrapped an arm around Keith’s shoulders companionably, grinning, and Keith found this reassuring for some reason. It was stupid—he was going into a fight that could cost him his life, and he was reassured simply because Lance was looking happy. This was madness. He was as soft-hearted as the guy, there was no other possible explanation.

At about nine, they left the shop to make their way to the Fightdome. The streets were alive with folk. Low town came alive with the night―all sorts of people left their lair when the sun went down and the true business began. Hookers were making eyes at passersby, alcoholics made their way to their favourite bar, gamblers were already imagining their winning hands as they rushed to the illegal gambling dens. Auctions were taking place behind closed doors, material and human flesh being peddled alike. Junkies went in search of their next fix while drug dealers licked their lips at the prospect of new money. The city stank of corruption and decadence.

A pall of clouds hung low in the sky, trapping in the humidity of the recent rainfall. Everywhere, colourful neon lights shone brightly, hurting the eye. They announced myriads of establishments, and some of them were there just for the heck of it. Large advertisement boards mounted inside holoscreens displayed over-priced products, wares, and services that the low towners could never hope to afford: new cars, makeup, the services of a lawyer, vacations outside Neo-Metropolis, the most recent season of a popular telly show, even class-one prostitutes smiling coyly at the viewer with a range of prices flashing. Nobody paid these any mind. The physical billboards had long since been vandalized, painted over with lewd graffiti.

The small drizzle was enough to be annoying, though not enough to warrant an umbrella. Keith, in his stupid dress, was cold―even though little skin was exposed, the fabric was thin. He pulled his jacket closer around his body in hopes of getting warmer, never acknowledging the inquiring or admiring looks he got. The wind ruffled the skirt around his knees, making him wonder how women managed to wear such garment all the time. Didn’t their butt get cold? He thought he’d ask Pidge, but she didn’t seem to be the kind of girl who wore anything except the most comfortable type of pants. He sighed—somehow, the ridiculousness of his outfit prevented him from taking the situation seriously. He should be feeling nervous about what was going to happen, yet he only wished this could be over with so he could change back into his own clothes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the nice comments! I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -Violence  
> -Mentions of blood  
> -Very minor character death

The Fightdome was a large disaffected building that used to be a big warehouse. Nobody really knew what it had housed or why it had been turned into a fighting ring. It had always been in the landscape of low town, a squat piece of concrete without any window. A fence had been erected around it to keep curious onlookers at bay. Everybody knew what took place in there, yet nobody could recall the police ever sniffing around. Fights were not illegal, after all―it was rumoured that the emperor himself liked watching his best fighters go at it. On this side of the bridge, the fighters punching each other in the ring were usually enforcers of some drug cartels or professional boxers. Boxing was a popular sport amongst the populace and the most talented boxers enjoyed the same notoriety as celebrities. Some of them got rich enough through their skills that they could afford to retire early, and one of them had apparently even had the necessary means to move to upper town.

Keith had visited the place a handful of times in the past few years. He had little interest for boxing itself, though he did appreciate bare-knuckle fights once in a while. The Fightdome did look different tonight, however; he wouldn’t say it looked more foreboding, simply… different. A nervous tension had begun to thrum at the back of his mind. He shook his head, trying to dislodge it. This was the first time he was going into a _planned_ fight; the fighting he did usually happened on the spot—he reacted more than he initiated the thing. He knew he had the skills to pull through, he just didn’t know whether he’d freeze or not. Hesitation could get him killed. Furthermore, he didn’t know how things would unfold. This was his first turf fight and not a regular one at that. There was no telling that the other sides would play fair; what if one of his adversaries figured out a way to smuggle a gun in? No matter how quick he was, there was nothing he could do against a gun at close range. Still, this was unlikely—not many people managed to get their hand on a gun here and those that circulated were usually the cheap kind that misfired more often than not. It was nevertheless a possibility he couldn’t blind himself to. Were he to get shot, he only had to hope it wasn’t some vital spot that was hit.

The cramped buildings that made up the majority of the space of low town eased somewhat around the Fightdome. There was a sort of plaza right in front of the single door built into the fence that gave the impression that whoever had designed the place hadn’t wanted to afford any cover to anyone approaching. Keith and his group stepped out of the maze of alleys into a big vacant space, fully exposed. There were other people milling about, slowly making their way towards the single, narrow gate that would allow them to walk into the cramped strip of land surrounding the Fightdome itself.

Beside Keith, Lance seemed to become someone else: he let go of his goofy persona to impersonate the hardened drug dealer. The transformation impressed Keith every time―it was as though Lance had two personalities inside him that he could switch between at will. His whole face and demeanour were transformed, making him appear to be someone else entirely. He looked taller, bigger, no longer the lanky young man with the easy grin who enjoyed spending lazy afternoons watching reruns. His features sharpened, his blue eyes turning flinty. Assuming that Keith had met this guy on the street without knowing him, he wouldn’t have approached him. He despised when Lance played that character—it was so far from his true self that it hurt him somewhere deep. He’d take blow after blow without flinching, only to crumble once he was out of sight. Keith had watched it happened often, especially after his friend had had to do something unpleasant. That persona acted like armour; it softened the blows without stopping them completely. In the end, Lance would be left bruised, hating himself for days until he had to do it all again.

Keith touched his arm, a gesture set to reassure him that, to his shame, reassured himself too. As was his right as their boss, Lance stepped in front of their group, confidently walking towards the gate. If Pidge and Hunk were uncomfortable with this new side of him they had never witnessed before, they did an excellent job at hiding it. Pidge’s face was stony, making her look ten years older. This wasn’t Panchito’s first rodeo, therefore he knew what to expect. Hunk, on the other hand, had some trouble hiding his qualms—he was tensed, his broad shoulders hunched and his face beaded with sweat. Despite his apparent nervousness, he never backed down, never suggested they go back.

The cartels and gangs of low town were numerous, but not numerous enough for their members not to recognize each other on the street. Keith knew most of the people making their way towards the gate; those guys belonged to Njàll, one of the contestants for Marco’s turf. All of them had the same light-coloured hair and pallid skin that marked them as climate refugees from some northern countries. At the moment, Njàll occupied a territory farther south from here. Situated on the outskirts of low town, he owned many acres of empty land where, according to rumours, he kept his human chattel penned. He dealt in all kinds of illegal things and was the guy people went to whenever they needed to acquire special stuff. The reason why he now wanted to earn a part of Marco’s turf was anyone’s guess.

The gate of the fence was opened. A faint, greenish light shone between its posts, indicating this was where the people heading inside had to get scanned. Two android employees of the Fightdome stood there like sentries, manning the computer and frisking the guests. Lance’s group went to stand in line obediently. From behind Lance, Keith saw that they were being given weird looks—no doubt these guys knew who they were and were wondering why they were here. Keith met their gazes squarely while waiting for his turn to be scanned and frisked. This was the most critical part of their plan—should he get caught with a weapon, he wouldn’t be allowed in. Without him, they couldn’t claim Marco’s territory. Without Marco’s territory, there was no plant for their new drug. Everything hinged on this moment.

He kept his face as blank as possible as the line shuffled forward. The androids—human-shaped creatures made of white resin without any distinguishing facial features—worked efficiently. He observed them frisk those in front of him; they appeared quite thorough, checking pockets and loose folds of jackets, and patting down along the pant legs. A girl wearing a skirt went next and, to his immense relief, the androids didn’t check between her legs—they merely touched around her waist and the outside of her thighs covered by the skirt. Lance had to have been watching for this too, for he threw him a relieved look over his shoulder once the young woman was waved through.

Lance’s turn came and he was allowed in without trouble. Pidge’s prediction proved right: the scan didn’t pick anything unusual on Keith. When the android approached him, he obediently stood still, letting its cold, unhuman hands pat him down—up and down his chest and back, around his hips down to his knees, only the area covered by the skirt. It waved him through uncaringly, never thinking to check _under_ the skirt. Keith rejoined Lance, honestly amazed that they had gotten away with it that easily; had this been a real human being doing the frisking, the man or the woman would have thought to check under a skirt. This was obviously the best place to hide an object, not that he’d have ever thought to smuggle stuff anywhere that way. He made a note at the back of his mind to congratulate Pidge on her fast thinking.

The three others were allowed in without a hitch. Keith noted whilst they regrouped the air of tension surrounding them. He couldn’t blame them—his own body vibrated with nervousness too, his fingers itching to wrap around the hilt of his dagger to reassure himself. It would be naïve of him to believe that everything would be all right simply because he’d managed to smuggle his weapon in. It gave him a chance to win his fights but, at the end of the day, it was nothing more than a two-foot long length of whetted steel. It had gotten him out of trouble numerous times in the past, thus all he could hope for was that it would work its magic again.

Inside the inner courtyard, they encountered the first people of the second belligerent of the night, Minoru. Contrary to the ones from Njàll’s cartel, these folk sported for the most part black hair and monolid eyes. The two groups were understandably not mixing, standing apart from each other the best they could. The air was so thick with hostility that a knife could have cut through it. If looks could kill, there would be a bunch of dead drug dealers lying about on the old, pitted concrete.

Lance paid them no mind; he walked with his head held high, acting as though he belonged amongst them. He wrapped an arm around Keith’s shoulders, pulling him closer, and they slipped effortlessly into the façade they’d been practicing for five years. In spite of the nonchalant act, Keith could feel the tension radiating from his friend’s body―it was a testament to his acting skills that nothing of it showed on his face. While they made their way towards the entrance of the Fightdome, Keith counted about twenty people from Minoru’s gang and perhaps half that much from Njàll’s. They were clearly outnumbered here; he had expected it, yet it still left him feeling unsettled. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to protect the others should push come to shove. Crap, maybe this had all been a bad idea, maybe they should have waited for a better opportunity to present itself, for a moment when they’d had time to prepare and muster their forces.

He had no more time to mull this over. They were arriving at the door of the Fightdome, which was also guarded by two other android sentries. They were scanning the PDA of those awaiting entry, making sure they were on the guest list. For the second time tonight, it all went smoothly for Lance—Pidge had once again come through. He was allowed in, no question asked.

The inside of the Fightdome was bright, lit by large overhead lights. They flooded the entire structure, leaving no shadowed corners. Around the circular ring, there were bleachers made of cheap metal that creaked beneath the weight of spectators. No window or any other door pierced the high brick walls. The place smelled of sweat and old blood. During boxing matches, a food vendor sold greasy meals from one corner. Now, the small stand stood empty. The only sounds came from the low chatter of half a dozen people gathered on two ends of the bleachers.

Keith paused inside the door, surveying the large room. It felt different from the times he’d been here to watch a boxing match―it looked bigger, scarier, cheaper. As he looked around, he couldn’t help thinking that he didn’t want to die in such a place that reeked of violence. His hand went to the small of his back before he remembered that his knife wasn’t there. He went for Lance’s wrist, grabbing it in an attempt to steady himself. He suddenly felt no different from a coward for being that unsettled; he was supposed to be the fighter of the group, the warrior, the courageous one. Instead, he was acting like the dumb whore he pretended to be, spooked out by a big empty space. Lance had to sense his unease because he squeezed his fingers and gently tugged him towards the bleachers. The instant they got closer, those already seated caught sight of them. Their conversation gradually died down and the real showdown began.

Minoru was the first to react―he leapt up and dragged his feet towards them, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his pants. He was a tall, heavy-set man in his late thirties. His long hair had been dyed a bright green and his one remaining eye was black, red-rimmed. He reeked of the expensive seafood he apparently adored eating, a sort of rotten smell that had his interlocutors lean back from him. Although not one of the richest drug lords of the city, he did have a certain degree of notoriety; he had a good clientele in upper town, a bunch of important folks who made him feel protected enough to do what he wanted.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the runt of the litter!” he exclaimed once he came level with Lance, a large smile on his face. “Little bro of Marco’s, ain’t you? The bastard’s sending his baby bro to do his nasty job? I always knew you Cubans were just cowards.”

Lance didn’t rise to the challenge; he merely raised an eyebrow at the man and not very subtly leaned back, away from the fishy air of his breath. “Good to see you too, Minoru.”

From the other side of the dome came strutting Njàll. He approached them slowly, a calculating look on his face that gave the feeling he was trying to understand why they were here. Contrary to Minoru, he was as lean as a whip, very tall with sharp features. His blue eyes were eerily pale, almost transparent, and his hair was a dark, sandy blond that he kept brutally short. He wore a suit, as if he were a businessman rather than some twisted drug lord who enjoyed terrorizing children. Minoru recoiled from him, the shiver of disgust coursing through his body not faked at all. Lance tensed minutely when Njàll came to stand in front of him, looking down his nose―it was obvious that, to him, Lance was nothing more than mud on the sole of his shoe. Lance didn’t back down, meeting the unwavering stare with one of his own.

For a second, everybody held their breath; Njàll’s inexpressive face made it impossible to guess what he might be thinking.

“Ah, Lance, precious little Nadia’s uncle. Here to defend her honour?”

Keith could have stopped it; he knew it would happen before Lance even moved. He didn’t―he just took a step back and relished his friend punching Njàll in the nose. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed off in the large, empty space. Njàll stumbled back, hand going to his face, though he didn’t look very surprised by the blood he saw on his fingers. The moment Lance made to attack again, Keith stopped him. This was what Njàll wanted, he got off this kind of things; pushing other people’s buttons and riling them up. He knew the perfect thing to say to get a reaction out of someone. Lance wasn’t aggressive, far from it, but he couldn’t stand the thought of his family being hurt. Nadia was his beloved niece, Luis’ daughter, and the sweetest girl on this side of the bridge. Her school stood in the centre of the territory Njàll wished to acquire tonight, and nobody who knew him was gullible enough to think he wouldn’t take advantage of that. He didn’t _hurt_ children, per say, he simply sold them to the highest bidder. He was so good at terrorizing the neighbourhoods he already owned that nobody, not even the parents of the children, dared protest.

“Nice,” Njàll mumbled, licking the blood off his fingers. He grinned at Lance, unbothered by his broken nose. “I hope Nadia’s as feisty as her uncle.” He laughed and turned away, encompassing the dome with his spread arms. “Now, why don’t we begin this? Lance’s here to defend his brother’s territory, so let’s give him a chance to do so!” He raised an eyebrow at Lance. “Where’s your enforcer, boy? Don’t tell me it’s that fat boy there quivering in his boots? Or your cousin who’s not faring much better? That little girl, perhaps? Yes, that would be fitting for the Cubans to send a girl; you are a bunch of emasculated ninnies, after all.”

Lance’s mask nearly slipped again at the jibes; Keith saw him grit his teeth, fighting to keep control over his emotions. Truth to be told, he was also having trouble restraining himself from punching Njàll―the sick bastard made his skin crawl, what with the casual way he talked about a little girl. It was high time he steps up; not letting Lance the chance to reply, he took a step forward.

“I’m the enforcer,” he declared.

Another long silence engulfed the room. Then, it was Minoru’s turn to burst into laughter. Njàll quickly followed suit, giggling gleefully. Their followers tittered too from the bleachers. Keith rolled his eyes because, yeah, he knew, he looked ridiculous in a dress. He let them have their fun, knowing he’d wipe the smirk off their dumb faces sooner than later. Behind him, he could hear Lance’s evening breathing as he managed to calm down sufficiently to regain his cool. This had to be torture for him, to know that, should they fail to stop Njàll, Nadia might be in danger. Keith loved the girl too, loved when she called him uncle and asked him to braid his hair, yet they weren’t blood-related. Standing there being laughed at made him realise that he truly loved Lance’s family like his own; he’d do anything in his power to protect them, to protect the people who had welcomed him and helped him while he was at the lowest point in his life.

Something must have showed on his face since Minoru stopped laughing. The sound of laughter eventually died down and tension was cranked up a notch, reminding everybody of the reason why they had all gathered here.

“Well, then,” Njàll said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I suppose we should get this thing started. How do you want to do this, rent boy? Want me and Minoru to fight this out first and the winner will have the honour of destroying that pretty face of yours?”

Keith tilted his chin up a little in a gesture he knew to be arrogant. “No. I’ll face your guy, then Minoru’s.”

A chortle. “Oh, you’ve got spunk! I like that! If you don’t get killed in the process, I know of a place where they’d pay a fortune to have a chance to humble someone like you!” Njàll winked. “Might be more fun than bedding that limp noodle over there, right?”

“Do you ever shut up?”

Ugliness rippled over Njàll’s features. The room chilled and Keith felt a shiver of anticipation run down his back. He tensed minutely, certain that the other man would attack him. To his surprise, he just shrugged―this didn’t matter to him in the grand scheme of things. He waved at them to follow him and made his way towards the centre of the arena. Keith followed, removing his jacket and handing it to Lance as they were reaching the bleachers. Although Lance and Pidge managed to look composed, Hunk and Panchito were pale. They gave him the feeling that they wished to bid him good luck while fearing this would jinx the whole thing. Keith understood that this was all new to Hunk—he’d been a cook for Lance for quite some time now, but he had never seen how things worked outside his lab until today. Despite the fact that Panchito had been around the drug world for years, he still acted like he’d never seen blood. Keith usually ignored his squeamishness, yet it grated on his nerves today. He nevertheless kept silent, not wanting to start an argument simply because he was nervous too. Instead, he marched towards the centre of the arena that was corded off from the bleachers to keep the spectators away.

There had to be a total of forty people seated in the bleachers. The three groups sat very far away from each other, giving the other the stink eye. Minoru and Njàll were looking collected as though they knew this would be over in a matter of seconds. Keith scanned the faces, trying to see if he’d ever kicked the ass of any of them. He counted on the element of surprise to give himself an edge during his first fight—since he didn’t look like the typical enforcer, his opponents tended to let their guard down around him, a stupid mistake he couldn’t believe experienced thugs still made. Strength didn’t lie solely in muscles and triumph in a fight wasn’t always written in scars. That old mentality helped him and he’d be an idiot not to use every weapon in his arsenal.

He waited whilst Njàll conversed with a man who had to be his enforcer. Damn it, what was taking them so long? This had to begin now! The tension was tiring him up faster than any good fight could. He did his best to keep his body loose when, finally, the bloke decided to join him inside the ring. Not unlike the rest of Njàll’s gang, this one was tall with a pale complexion. Contrary to most enforcers, however, he wasn’t a hulking mountain of muscles; he was tall yet lightly muscled with surprisingly no scar marring his face. Similar to his boss, there was an oddity about his eyes; not only were they an inhuman colour—yellow—they were dead, like there was nothing behind them. As he got closer, Keith realised that he wasn’t merely pale-skinned, he was nearly translucent. It dawned on him that he must be a half-breed, the result of a human mixing with an alien. He had never seen him before on the streets, which meant he was either new or didn’t mix with the rabble. Either option could be trouble.

The enforcer extended a hand towards him in greeting. “My name’s Ragnvald. Nice to meet you.”

Keith looked at the proffered hand with its long, sharp, _filed_ fingernails. He had to smile in acknowledgement as he shook it. “I’m Keith. Nice nails.”

A flicker of a smile tugged at Ragnvald’s colourless lips. They each took three steps back. The fighting ring wasn’t that large once you stood inside it; it had to be about ten feet by ten, hard underfoot, made of hard-packed earth that wouldn’t soften a landing. The ground was even with nothing that could snag an unwary foot. As fighting spots went, it was the best Keith could imagine, far better than some back alley full of detritus.

The more or less controlled environment suddenly brought him images of his first encounters with Shiro, back when the man had been nothing more than a rookie policeman teaching delinquents the art of self-defence in a youth centre. Despite dealing with the next generation of criminals, Shiro had always insisted on a safe place to teach his pupils, with mats covering the ground to make sure nobody got hurt. For some insane reason, Keith wished Shiro were here tonight. Not as backup, not as a policeman, just as moral support, a friendly face he could turn to should things get heated. Just—

The swipe nearly caught him across the face. Keith’s thoughts burst in the nick of time for him to catch Ragnvald’s lunging movement. The guy was fast—one second he was across the ring and the other he was on Keith, scything through the air with his hand. Keith leaned back, the sharpened nails catching only some strands of black hair. Ragnvald didn’t pause, didn’t allow him time to gather his bearings. He attacked again, wickedly fast, using his hands like scythes. For the first few seconds, all Keith could do was doge and duck, unable to wrap his mind around what was happening. His inattention cost him a long, shallow cut on the upper arm―the puffy, short sleeve of the dress tore easily before turning a reddish colour.

The pain registered as a signal that it was time to get his shit together—he wouldn’t win this by evading. At the next swipe, he planted his feet firmly and caught the extended wrist. His intent was to flip Ragnvald over, but the man went with the movement instead, turning his fall into a graceful roll on the floor. He popped to his feet effortlessly, unruffled, and Keith distinctly heard Pidge yell at him to pull himself together.

From what he’d witnessed, Keith thought Ragnvald and he might be equally matched. Ragnvald was quick on his feet and relied on his speed and control. His advantage over Keith was his superior height that gave him a longer reach. Keith still had his knife hidden under his skirt, his trump card, and he decided not to use it right away―if he were lucky, he could defeat his opponent without it, keeping the surprise for the next round. He had good stamina and he was pretty sure he could fight two opponents one after the other, though it didn’t do to be overconfident. He preferred to assume he was going to be tired when he faced Minoru’s guy, which was when the knife would come in handy, giving him an edge.

He took the lead this time. He went after the other man with his fists, aiming for the face. Ragnvald parried without difficulty and Keith’s other blow land almost landed. Ragnvald saw it and evaded, moving gracefully. He was good, Keith had to admit. Unlike many enforcers who were mere brawlers, he had training, and Keith had to respect that. For the next couple of seconds, they exchanged punches, testing each other. Keith had no time for thoughts—he became pure instinct. Right, left, right again, duck, dodge, block, punch. His knuckles hit the meat of Ragnvald’s shoulder, doing no damage. He had to wary of these damn long nails—more than once they practically tore a chunk of his skin off.

Ragnvald overextended himself by a fraction, yet it was enough for Keith. He dodged, the blow grazing the side of his chest. Then, he clamped his arm down, trapping the other man’s forearm, and kneed him in the stomach. Air whooshed out of Ragnvald, but it didn’t stop him; he dug his feet and pushed while Keith had only one foot on the ground, unbalancing him. He fell backward, dragging the man with him. He landed hard on his back, his knee still pushed against Ragnvald’s chest and Ragnvald’s forearm still trapped. Keith grabbed his free wrist the instant the man made to swipe at his face. They strained like that, pushing against each other, Keith trying to keep those nails away from his face and Ragnvald trying to tear his eyes out. The angle was all wrong and, with one leg trapped between their two bodies, Keith didn’t quite have the necessary leverage to push the other off. At the back of his mind, he noted that the skirt had bunched around his waist, exposing the knife and ruining his plan. Too bad.

Gritting his teeth, Keith heaved and head-butted Ragnvald. The blow landed awkwardly, probably hurting him more than his opponent, though it proved to be enough. Dazed, Ragnvald’s strength faltered slightly, and Keith used that second of distraction to flip them over. He found himself over Ragnvald, one knee planted on the man’s chest. He had no time to use that newfound advantage that the enforcer was bringing his own knee up, slamming it into Keith’s butt so hard he pitched forward. He used the momentum to roll off the man, landing awkwardly and jumping to his feet. The stupid skirt had twisted around his thighs, hindering his movements. A corner of it was stuck in the straps that held the sheath against his leg, and he had no time to fix it. Ragnvald meant business now: he lunged anew, hands fast. Once again, Keith dodged and deflected. He was getting into it too and saw an opening. His fist crashed into Ragnvald’s chin, throwing his head back. It was exactly what he’d been hoping for: he spun on his heel and his spinning kick caught Ragnvald in the temple. The man was sent sprawling to the hard ground with a gasp.

Nothing moved. Keith watched, panting. Ragnvald remained sprawled there, chest not rising. He didn’t dare hope but, as he inched closer he saw what he’d aimed at: the man’s head was fractured. The temple was where the bone was thinnest on a human’s skull and a blow there was often sufficient to floor an opponent. He could tell by the sprawl of the man’s body that he was dead. He felt the dimmest satisfaction at this—Ragnvald had been a worthy adversary, after all.

It had to be the adrenaline rushing through his veins because he was a tiny bit insulted by the stunned silence. Even Lance was looking surprised. The moment Keith glanced towards Njàll and his group, he saw that they were taken aback by what had happened. Njàll’s face was bright red as if he were trying to repress some strong emotion. He didn’t say anything, however, didn’t challenge Keith’s win over his enforcer.

One of the androids in charge of the Fightdome came forward, grabbed Ragnvald by the arm, and dragged the body away.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Here is the new chapter! I hope you will like!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -brief mentions of past gang rape  
> -firefight  
> -violence  
> -blood  
> -Very minor character death

Minoru was still looking smug as the ring was cleared for the next fight. Keith cracked his knuckles while he waited for the man’s enforcer to step forward. The spirit of battle kept singing in his body, making him eager to face his next opponent.

“Come on, get on with it,” he called.

He couldn’t allow his body to unwind. He could already feel bruises forming on his skin where blows had landed. The cut on his upper arm stung faintly and he wished he could clean it soon—fingernails were notoriously dirty. If he were given too much time to catch his breath, the chorus of pain would grow louder, loud enough to be difficult to ignore. He hoped he’d thought to refresh his stash of painkillers back at home or he wouldn’t sleep for the whole night.

Minoru patted a man on the shoulder and gently pushed him towards the ring. This one had the typical enforcer image: huge, hulking, muscled, with more scar tissue than skin visible on his face. The towering appearance wasn’t what stalled the air in his lungs. Cold sweat trickled down his back whilst he watched the man approach. He remembered four years ago, being offered a drink and stupidly accepting, feeling numb afterwards, feeling confused, being dragged to a darkened room, hands around his throat, knife against his skin, mind-shattering pain, mind-shattering _fear_ , being restrained, unable to fight back, laughter, many voices, more pain, more fear, fainting, awaking covered in blood, barely able to make it home—

The slap sent him crashing to the ground before he could even register what was happening. His thoughts spiralled when a hand grabbed at his skirt and another one groped between his thighs. What was happening, what was—the whisper of steel ringing against the leather of a sheath.

Keith kicked out on pure instinct, the force behind the blow driven by sheer terror. His foot caught something hard and the hands left him. His vision finally cleared, allowing him to see what was happening. Fuck, the fight had begun without him ever realising it. Minoru’s enforcer had taken a step back, a bruise slowly blooming on his chin. That bastard—Keith’s stomach lurched at the sight of him. He got up, panting, suddenly furious at himself for having zoned out. So what if the guy and his friends had drugged him, raped him, and tortured him? It happened to every whore, he wasn’t special. He decided he didn’t want to play around this time, so he unsheathed his knife that the son of a bitch had nearly managed to take from him.

“Nice,” the enforcer said with a smirk. “I couldn’t make you cry when I fucked you, but I will make sure I succeed when I break your bones!”

Keith saw red. Something snapped at the back of his mind. All deliberate thoughts flew out and he lunged at the other man with a yell. Seconds or minutes or even hours passed, time becoming meaningful only the instant his focus wavered. He became aware of the taste of copper in his mouth and of the pains wracking his body. At one point, he saw blood dribbling from his fingers on the packed sand that drank it greedily.

A concussion shaking the whole building ultimately snapped him out of his daze and he became once more aware of his surroundings. Feeling groggy like he’d just woken up after a long nap, he looked around himself in confusion. The fight had stopped. The bleachers were trembling as if under the onslaught of an earthquake. A crack came from somewhere. Dust fell from the high ceiling and the lamps overhead swayed. Keith saw out the corner of his eye the enforcer he’d been fighting almost lose his footing when another shockwave shook the entire place on its foundations. One of the bleachers collapsed amidst a flurry of splintered steel and gasps of surprise.

“What the hell’s going on?” Lance demanded, all of a sudden at Keith’s side.

“Feels like an earthquake,” Panchito commented, gazing around uncertainly.

“We haven’t had those in decades,” Pidge said. “The Galrans installed some machine inside the tectonic plate to keep itstable, this shouldn’t happen.”

“Who gives a shit!” Lance exclaimed. “Let’s get out of here before the ceiling collapses on us!”

The members of the two other gangs had apparently had the same idea: they were all rushing towards the front door, tripping over themselves in their hurry. The next shockwave sent everybody tumbling to the ground. Keith felt dizzy while everything convulsed around him. He couldn’t find his footing, couldn’t get up. The lamps flashed, plunging them into darkness for a terrifying couple of seconds.

Pidge had the best solution: she began crawling towards the door, followed closely by Hunk. Keith sheathed his knife back and went after them. The noise was terrible, a cacophony of screeching metal and tumbling stones. There was a sound similar to thunder crashing and one of the walls supporting the ceiling split in two in a zigzagging line. The lights flashed yet again and debris fell from above. Keith tried to cover his head whilst crawling. Dust fell on him like snow, obscuring his view. He had no idea if they were going in the right direction. Hunk tried to use the light from his PDA to guide them, but the cloud of dirt was too thick to be breached. Keith grabbed Lance’s jacket, hauling him closer, suddenly afraid they might lose each other in the clamour. Even though he could see Pidge’s and Hunk’s silhouette, he had no idea where Panchito had gone off to. Opening his mouth to shout the man’s name proved stupid: he swallowed a mouthful of sand and started coughing violently. His eyes watered at the exact moment the lights failed them, plunging the whole place in the dark.

As if in answer, the shaking relented, diminishing to a slight tremble. Keith paused, head hung low, coughing, totally disoriented; he couldn’t see through the murky darkness. Beside him, Lance was shivering slightly, coughing too. He followed Hunk’s idea of using his PDA for light and, soon, a feeble, whitish glow illuminated a small circle around them. Tiny flying particles were all Keith could discern while dust settled.

“You okay?” he asked Lance in a low whisper.

“I think I hurt my shoulder,” Lance answered. His voice sounded strained. “I’m bleeding.”

“Fuck. We need to get out of here. Give me my PDA.”

Lance did so and, when their hands touched, Keith felt warm liquid on his fingers. Shit, the guy wasn’t kidding. Worry made his heart twist painfully inside his chest. As he tried to get up, he banged his head. Directing the light towards it, he saw the twisted, bunched up frame of one of the bleachers a few inches above them. He walked his hand over it, trying to make sense of their position in the Fightdome. The dust made it difficult to see and the shaking had disoriented him. His probing fingers only encountered concrete. Supposing that he was right in his assumptions, a large part of the wall had collapsed down and the bleachers were the sole thing that had saved them; they’d have been crushed to death without them. Keith shivered, trying not to think about the thick slab of mortar a mere inch from his head. It blocked the way ahead, that was for sure.

“We have to circle around it,” he said. “A part of the wall has collapsed, we might be able to get out through the hole.”

Lance sighed and nodded. He fiddled with his PDA at the same time that they began inching their way back. Keith saw he was texting the others, asking how they were doing. No answer thus far. Keith refused to dwell on that for the moment, refused to dwell on the fact that Pidge and Hunk had been just in front of them, just in the path of the falling piece of concrete.

It seemed to take forever before they made it out from under the bleachers. Keith’s elbows and knees were scratched bloody from crawling on the debris-covered ground. With the adrenaline of the fights running out, exhaustion and pain tried to settle on his shoulders. He pushed them back, refusing to stop—they weren’t out of trouble yet.

A couple of minutes later, they were able to get on their feet near what he suspected was the centre of the Fightdome. With a section of the wall tumbled to the ground, a thin ray of moonlight fell inside the building, providing some light. Keith took a second to survey the wreckage, trying to make sense of it. It all looked very shaky, very unstable, and he kept expecting the ground to start shaking again. They had to get out of here should it happen again.

“Oh, Pidge and Hunk are safe!” Lance said, looking at his PDA. “They made it out!”

“What about Panchito?”

“They say he’s with them.”

“Good. Let’s get the hell out ourselves, then.”

“How?” Lance asked, frowning. “The door’s blocked by this giant piece of concrete.”

Keith pointed towards the hole in the wall. “Through there.”

A tiny rumble coming from beneath their feet froze them in place. They glanced at each other, eyes wide in terror. It quickly subsided, though it was enough to spur them on. Keith took the lead: he scrambled up a pile of rocks, testing his footing, making sure it was sufficiently stable to hold his weight. He both wanted to hurry and take his time, knowing the two options had serious drawbacks―now wasn’t the time to stumble and break a leg, and they couldn’t take too long either in case the whole thing fell on their heads.

“Once we’re out of here,” Lance panted, “I’m kicking Pidge’s butt! It’s all her fault! Damn it, I can hardly feel my arm…! I’m leaving bloody handprints everywhere! Keith, careful where you step, you nearly kicked a pebble in my face!”

“Shut up! At least you’re not crawling in debris in a torn dress!”

The pile of rubbles shifted under them. Keith continued on, heart in his throat, expecting at any moment that the damn thing would collapse. The wind blowing in through the gaping hole in the wall stirred the dust, preventing it from settling. It got into their mouth, their nose, their eyes, making their progress all the more perilous. It stuck to their sweaty skin and Keith swore it’d take a week to wash it all off. Time and again, one of his feet or one of his hands slipped. The pile of rocks kept shifting the closer they got to their goal. He heard the distinctive sound of metal whining as it bent in unnatural ways. He could picture the bleachers holding up this huge piece of concrete, straining under the weight, ready to collapse at any time. Just another minute, he thought, one more minute and they’d be out of harm’s way.

They reached the hole without further incident. The wall had collapsed inward, about three feet from the ground, their sole blessing of the day; had it collapsed higher, they might not have been able to jump out safely. When they both set their feet on solid ground, they paused by common accord to take in a few deep breaths of relief. Looking at Lance gave Keith a good idea of what he might look like: scratched, bloodied, covered in grey, sticky grime from head to toe, wild-eyed after the scare. The blood on Lance’s jacket worried him, but he didn’t say anything about it for the time being; it wasn’t a life-threatening injury anyway, probably nothing more than a scratch from fallen debris.

While he caught his breath, Keith looked around. Whatever had happened to the Fightdome wasn’t an isolated incident; the fence that surrounded it had been flattened along with some buildings he could see in the near distance. Water was gushing from a severed pipe somewhere. There were screams and shouts coming from every direction and the sound of sirens coming from far away. He had no way of knowing how far the damage extended—he simply hoped his own home had escaped unscathed and that nobody he knew had been gravely injured.

As they were getting ready to start looking for the others, they spotted Pidge running towards them. Her face was twisted in an odd emotion Keith couldn’t decipher for a second; she looked terrified. He then heard them over the clamour: gunshots, many gunshots coming from semi-automatic weapons. His stomach dropped at the sound―only policemen were allowed to own those weapons. It suddenly dawned on him that, just this morning, there had been a police operation taking place in low town, that the whole place was crawling with cops. Coming here had been such a fucking bad idea―it was possible that they’d caught wind of what was happening at the Fightdome, that they wanted to catch a bunch of drug dealers whilst said drug dealers were trapped in a building with a single door. If that were the case, the earthquake had been a messed up miracle.

“This is bad,” Pidge said once she reached them. “The cops are there! The—“

The earth began shaking violently again, throwing them all to their knees with the force of it. Keith didn’t have time to think as he laid there, covering his head with his arms like an idiot, hoping the ground didn’t split open beneath them. It went on for long, agonizing seconds. The rumble was so loud that it covered any other sounds. Keith more felt than saw or heard another part of the Fightdome collapse. A cloud of dust engulfed them. He gritted his teeth, forehead pressed on the wet asphalt, wondering if this were where he’d die.

Just as he thought his heart would give out, the shaking slowed to a near halt. He remained unmoving while things crashed to earth. There were more screams and shouts and coughing. A perpetual groaning sound could be heard as buildings settled uneasily once more in their foundations. When he dared look up, every surface was covered with a thick grey dusting. He coughed, wiping his eyes to remove the grit. Pidge and Lance were all right, though looking dazed.

“Is this the end of the world?” Lance asked in a shaky voice. “Holy shit, my mom talked about this, it’s in her religious book, like her god’s gonna smite us for sinning and—“

“It’s just an earthquake,” Pidge cut with annoyance. She removed her glasses, presumably to wipe the dust off, but then realised she had nothing clean to wipe them with. She sighed. “We should use this opportunity to scram. As I was saying, there are tons of cops around here. They’re exchanging fire with guys from a gang, I think.”

“Exchanging fire with a gang?” Keith repeated. “They have _guns_?”

Pidge nodded grimly. “Yeah, that’s what it seems like.”

It didn’t matter who had guns—all that mattered right now was that they get out of here before the policemen decided to comb the area. The EMT units and firefighters would soon be roaming the streets to help those in need, and Keith didn’t want to be caught in this neighbourhood the moment they came.

They rejoined with Hunk and Panchito, both of whom were looking terrified out of their mind. Panchito had been hurt sometimes during the earthquake; he had a bloody gash on his forehead that had bled copiously. Hunk was thankfully mostly unscathed except from some scratches. They stood together for a few seconds, glad that everybody in their group had made it out alive. Hunk told Keith that Njàll’s gang had managed to leave the building prior to the big collapse. Minoru and his followers hadn’t been that lucky—it was then that Keith spotted the first corpse half-buried under a pile of rubbles. Hatred squeezed his chest not unlike a vice; he hoped Minoru’s enforcer had been crushed, that a big rock had fallen on him and broken all his bones as he died in agony.

The android sentries at the gate still stood there, totally unflappable, totally uncaring of what had happened. The fence had collapsed around them, rendering them utterly useless. They didn’t acknowledge their presence when they walked past them, they just remained there, unmoving. The ground kept rumbling from time to time, making them nervous. Panchito had seized Keith’s arm and refused to let go, as though he could save him should the earthquake begin anew. He didn’t mention it, instead focusing his senses on what was happening around him. He distinctly heard the sound of rapid gunfire, but with all the noises due to the seism, he couldn’t tell where it came from. It seemed to surround them, coming from every corner. He couldn’t begin to imagine what cartel would be dumb enough to exchange fire with the cops; most of the gangs knew to stay away from authority and, when they actually met, to keep their illegal guns out of sight. Owning a gun without permit could lead to a death sentence, so people were content with stabbing each other rather than shooting at each other.

The warren of narrow streets was difficult to navigate. All kind of debris had fallen from the surrounding buildings, making it painful to walk. Some streets were downright blocked while others were too dangerous to consider. Keith didn’t know this neighbourhood well; whenever he’d come to the Fightdome, he’d always used the same path that was now blocked by large chunks of concrete. They didn’t encounter many people—those who had heard the gunshots had fled. Others cowered inside, more afraid of the policemen than of their house caving in on their head. There was an eerie feeling to the place; a small wind had picked up and the air smelled acrid, like something was burning somewhere. The sounds of screams and sirens appeared to come from very far away, the din nearby swallowed by the gunshot noises.

The next turn they took put them in front of an old disaffected plant. The street dead-ended at its closed, locked doors. The windows had long since been placarded, though the planks of those on ground level had been torn away, which meant squatters and junkies had probably made this place their home.

They jumped at the sound of a gun being discharged alarmingly close by.

“Inside,” Lance decided. “Let’s lay low until things calm down.”

“But what if the building falls on our head?” Panchito asked worriedly.

“It shouldn’t happen,” Hunk said. “This place’s solid. Look, there isn’t even a crack on the wall. I suppose it’s the safest shelter we can find for now…”

Lance glanced at Keith who nodded. To be honest, he’d much rather they all go home, yet he understood that Lance wanted to be careful―the streets were overflowing with policemen, and getting caught near the Fightdome was a bad idea. Waiting out the storm was the best thing to do right now, thus they crawled in through a window, none of them relishing the prospect of spending the night with a bunch of squatters.

The plant felt empty, however; they reconnoitred the perimeter quickly to come to the conclusion that they were on their own here. Although it looked abandoned, there wasn’t an air of decrepitude to the rooms they looked through. Sure, it was old, but it felt as if people visited often, though nobody could guess why in hell this would happen. Keith decided he didn’t like the place much―it sent shivers down his spine. There was a smell in the air he couldn’t quite place, a mix between old blood and suffering and sweat that reminded him of the Fightdome after a particularly painful boxing match. Was this an illegal fighting ring, then? He couldn’t tell and he didn’t care―he only wanted to go home.

They sat down to wait out the hours until things calmed down outside. With their backs against one concrete wall, they huddled together in a vain attempt to ward off the cold and humidity. Keith was freezing in that damn dress; the skirt had been torn away, leaving him in his underwear. Furthermore, the fabric that covered his torso under the black corset was thin, filmy, and it had gotten wet, sticking to his chest and arms uncomfortably. He was somehow pissed at Lance who’d lost his jacket during their escape and would have asked for his own had it not been covered in blood.

It was annoying and boring. They decided not to use their PDA in case the backlight shone through one of the broken windows and alerted anyone to their presence here. Pidge and Hunk talked in low voices about the structure of the drug that had put them in this mess in the first place. Lance had fallen asleep with his head on Panchito’s shoulder, thankfully not snoring. Keith was too wound up to even think about sleeping. Now that he had time to rest, his body was reminding him that it had been put through a bad ordeal not that long ago. He was in pain, his head hurt, and the worry over their predicament kept him from relaxing completely.

He kept worrying about Lance’s family; he had no idea how far the destruction brought by the earthquake spread. He also didn’t know whether the northern side of the bridge had been hit―he thought of those insanely tall apartment buildings and how easy it would be to bring them down. His fingers itched to text Adam to make sure he was all right, but he didn’t want to alarm him in case the shaking hadn’t been felt on the other side. Crap, did he hate waiting.

For a moment, it appeared that the gunshots were getting further away. Keith listened intently, trying to pinpoint their exact location without much success. Then, to his dismay, they seemed to be getting closer. Much closer. So close that they were soon accompanied by the sound of footfalls and raised voices. They all sat upright in fright, glancing at each other. Keith took his knife out of its sheath at his thigh.

An object hit the façade of the plant, making them jump in unison. The sound was repeated again and again, followed by orders being shouted by someone outside. Heavy boots hit the pavement. Beams of light shone through the broken windows. Keith tried to listen, tried to estimate how many people might be out there armed to the teeth―about thirty, if he had to hazard a guess, which was twenty-nine more than he could deal with.

They didn’t have time to formulate a plan that a heavy weight crashed through the planks keeping one of the windows closed. Wood shattered into splinters and remnants of old glass exploded into millions of tiny, glittering pieces. A man wearing a black uniform got to his feet, unslinging the rifle from his back. Others followed suit.

Keith and his group more or less dashed for cover. There were large pillars of cement supporting the high ceiling and they hid behind one of them, hoping to go unnoticed. The front door slammed open and another group jumped in. Those people were dressed in civilian clothes and their weapons were clearly cheaper. They nonetheless appeared to know what they were doing—they spread out and took cover behind overturned objects, their guns trained on the group of policemen on the other side of the room.

Keith had no idea what to do next. He looked around wildly, trying to find an escape route, a place where they could hide. They weren’t quite in the line of fire, but a ricochet from a bullet could easily find them no matter how low they crouched. The two groups opened fire on each other. The noise was deafening, amplified by the empty, echoing room. Screams and shouts of pain and anger overlaid it all, somehow more terrible. The noise didn’t relent as the seconds went by, as though the belligerents were ready to fight through the whole night.

Pidge shouted. Although Keith saw her mouth move, he had no idea what she was saying. She pointed behind them wildly, her eyes huge. He followed her gaze, knowing there was nothing there save for empty floor―except there was indeed something. He could swear there had been nothing there a minute ago, but now, there was a trapdoor opened in the floor. He blinked, wondering if the tiredness and anxiety weren’t playing tricks on his mind. No, there really was a door there. While he watched, a silhouette popped out, vaguely feminine in shape. It waved, beckoning them closer.

He exchanged a glance with Lance. There was no time—and no possibility—to discuss this. This could be a trap, yet they were already stuck in a dangerous situation. He supposed Lance reached the same conclusion as he had: whatever was on the other side of that trapdoor couldn’t be worse than what they were facing here.

Lance pushed Pidge in that direction, urging her to go. He then did the same with Panchito and Hunk, nearly pushing them away so they’d hurry. A bullet whizzed an inch from Hunk’s head and the guy literally _dived_ into the hole in the floor. Keith glanced around the pillar behind which they’d taken shelter to see if anyone else had spotted their hiding place. It was difficult to tell—the policemen wore their riot gear that included a full face mask. From their formation, however, he was pretty sure they suspected someone else was in here outside the two warring factions.

“Go, you idiot!” Keith yelled at Lance when he saw him lingering. He shoved him. “I’ll follow you!”

Lance threw him a warning look before he hurried after the others. Keith hadn’t lied―he had every intention of following him, except that he had to take one last glimpse, just in case. The policemen had shifted closer to his pillar. As he watched, one of them took a hit to the shoulder with such force that he was sent flying backward. His helmet flew off his face when he landed hard against the concrete floor. Keith caught sight of black hair with one streak of white at the front—

Shiro.

Keith’s heart stopped in his chest.

The momentum of the fall had pushed Shiro out from cover, exposing him to the gang members’ bullets. He looked a bit dazed while he tried to push himself to his elbows, confused by what had happened.

Keith didn’t hesitate: he sprung from behind his hiding place and ran towards Shiro as bullets zipped by. Once he reached the wounded policeman, he looked up just in the nick of time to see another one rushing in their direction. Gritting his teeth, Keith grabbed a fistful of Shiro’s shirt and hauled him towards his pillar. The man had to be twice his weight, yet Keith dragged him with a strength fuelled by fear and desperation. Little clouds of dust exploded everywhere around him where bullets hit the floor or the wall. He had no idea whether one hit him—he never let go of Shiro. The other policeman followed him, shouting.

Panting harshly, muscles burning, Keith dragged Shiro towards the trapdoor from where Lance was staring at him wide-eyed. With a heave, Keith pushed his burden through the hole, forcing Lance to catch Shiro. They both tumbled into the darkness in a tangle of limbs and curses.

A hand grabbed his arm when he was about to join the others. He whipped around, knife at the ready, and almost stabbed Shiro’s partner in the eye. He recognized Matt Holt’s face half a second before it was too late. Matt apparently understood what was going on because he pushed him towards their salvation, shielding him with his Kevlar-covered body. A flurry of bullets zipped by, far too close for comfort. Keith barely had time to be terrorized that Matt was pushing him backward into the hole in the ground, jumping in after him.

It all went dark.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments left on the previous chapter! I know you were all looking forward to see Shiro, so here he is! 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -Mentions of blood and injuries

The first thing Keith saw the moment the light came back was Shiro’s worried face. He stared for a second, puzzled. The back of his head hurt like hell and he suspected he might have banged his skull somewhere.

“You okay, buddy?” Shiro asked gently. At Keith’s nod, he said with a small, amused smile: “You fell on top of me and banged your head on mine.”

Shiro helped him to his feet. Woozy, Keith focused on the firm grip on his arm, on the reassuring warmth of a hand he knew as well as his own. When he glanced around, he had absolutely no idea where they were. Lance, Pidge, Hunk, Panchito, and Matt were all looking at each other in mild amazement. Keith absentmindedly noted that Pidge kind of hid behind Hunk’s bulk, trying not to be seen by her brother. Their only light source came from the screen of Lance’s PDA, a narrow, white beam that threw long shadows. They seemed to be in a cramped passage beneath the surface with a ladder that led upwards. The walls and the floor were of beaten earth.

“What the hell happened?” Lance asked.

“There was a trapdoor hidden in the floor,” Hunk said slowly. “And we sort of… jumped into it?”

“You’re inside our home.”

A feminine voice coming from the darkness made them jump. Keith felt Shiro’s grip on his arm tighten as he stepped in front of him. Lance angled his PDA until the stream of light fell on what appeared to be a young woman. She came closer carefully, warily. There were others with her, though those stayed behind. In the gloom, describing her was difficult; Keith got glimpses of very pale hair and bright eyes. Her voice was youthful, polite, cultured even. He got the sense that her bearings were poised, that she was used to be in command. Was this the woman who’d gestured at him from the trapdoor earlier? He couldn’t be sure—he’d have to see her in better lightning.

“Your home?” Shiro asked.

He took a few steps towards the woman. The riot gear coupled with his large frame should have been threatening. Instead, he radiated nothing but calm. He easily took the lead for their group―he was a natural leader and Keith was more than happy to let him take the leading role. He still was still reeling from all that had happened; he remembered Shiro being shot and had to restrain himself from asking if he were all right because now wasn’t the time. Rather than asking, he went to stand beside Shiro, his knife held loosely inside his fist. Matt did the same, and the three of them formed a sort of protective wall to keep the others out of sight of the woman. She might have saved their life, it didn’t mean she had done it out the goodness of her heart―she might even have put them in graver peril than before.

“Yes,” she said, voice steady. “My name is Allura. Welcome to the ruins of Metropolis.”

Not missing a beat, Shiro introduced himself too: “My name is Shiro. We are grateful to you for helping us out there; we would have been killed otherwise.”

While they exchanged pleasantries like old friends, Lance asked Pidge what _Metropolis_ was. She answered that their city had apparently been built on the wreckage of another city destroyed during the Apocalypse. Said city had been called _Metropolis_ , hence why theirs bore the same name with the prefix _neo_.

“Is it possible for you to guide us back to the surface?” Shiro asked.

The woman shook her head. “The way you came in is the only way. These people are still firing at each other. It’s too dangerous.” She paused. “There are some in your group who require medical attention. We might be able to help.”

Shiro didn’t answer right away. He turned towards Keith and the others, his eyes questioning. Keith nodded minutely—Lance’s wound hadn’t stopped bleeding, it needed to be looked after. The others might have suffered minor injuries he wasn’t aware of too. He didn’t like the situation much, however; he’d never heard of anything being beneath the city except for some century-old ruins, so why were these people here? There were others beside that gal Allura, others whose shape wasn’t as demure or as human. What choice did they have, though? Going back the way they’d come was out of the question if the policemen were still shooting at the gang members. They had no idea where they were and they had no mean of knowing whether this woman was lying to them or not. He supposed the best thing to do for the moment was to get their bruises looked at, then they’d decide what to do next.

“Allow me to introduce one of my dearest friends,” Allura said, a smile in her voice. “This is Shay.”

Another silhouette approached until the person stood inside the light. This one definitely wasn’t human―it was larger and bigger than Allura without any aggression to its bearings. Its abnormally bumpy skin had a grey-tinge to it and its face was mostly flat with no apparent nose. The eyes were the most striking: they were entirely yellow with no pupil whatsoever. They glowed dimly in the gloom.

“It’s very good to meet you. I’m Shay.” The creature said in a soothing, feminine voice. “Please, be at ease. We mean you no harm. These… tunnels are quite perilous, however. We’d like you to follow us closely and be quiet as much as possible.”

“Is there any danger?” Matt asked suspiciously.

Shay shook her head. “None, if you do as we say.”

Matt and Shiro exchanged a glance. They conversed between themselves for a few seconds before deciding that following Allura and Shay was the wisest thing to do right now. They fell into step with the two women while other creatures similar to Shay regrouped around them. None of them oozed malice, but this was small comfort; Keith didn’t like being here, didn’t like the gloom and narrow passages and low roofs. It got worse when Allura bid Lance to turn off his PDA, forcing them to walk in full darkness. They stumbled on the uneven ground and grumbled about it up till Allura shushed them. Keith didn’t know why they had to be quiet—could the people on the surface hear them? He sure didn’t hear a sound.

They kept quiet as they followed Allura for what seemed like a long time. The path they followed bent every way possible; it got so confined once that Keith had to bend his head not to smack it on the ceiling. Down here, the air smelled of damp earth, a smell unusual enough to the surface that he had taken a minute to identify it. Sometimes, he thought he heard distant, clanging sounds, not unlike metal hitting metal. Were he to narrow his eyes, he could distinguish some faint shapes, which told him the tunnels weren’t pitch-black. There was the faintest luminescence coming from a source he couldn’t identify.

They stayed close to each other as they walked, finding comfort in the presence of the others. Keith knew Shiro was just in front of him, his warm presence a beacon he would have followed without questioning. A thousand questions ran through his mind, yet only one truly mattered: what would Shiro think of his presence near the Fightdome? They hadn’t had time to talk about it and it bothered him to no end. Thus far, he didn’t think Shiro knew of his drug-dealing sideline. Still, the man wasn’t dumb, and it wouldn’t be long until he pieced together what had happened over there. Keith didn’t want him to find out, not only because he didn’t want to disappoint him, but also because he didn’t want him to have to face a moral dilemma; Shiro considered him a little brother, and if he learned that he dabbled in illegal businesses, he’d be torn between bringing him in and turning a blind eye. He was known throughout the city as one of the most upright policemen of the force, so it was doubtful he’d let this slide, even for Keith. It sucked to be stuck in that position, and he couldn’t wait to get a second alone with the other man to talk to him.

Following Allura blindly, they arrived at a small cave. Keith knew they were no longer in a narrow tunnel for the way the sound travelled. Allura told them to shield their eyes, and someone stroke a match. The tiny, orange flame was enough to hurt their sight. A few old-fashioned lamps were lit, the kind that burned oil rather than relying on electricity. Soon, the cave was bathed in a reddish glow that felt as bright as the sun after the darkness of the tunnels. Keith had to keep his gaze on the ground until his eyes adjusted.

This was when he got his first good look of Allura―she was a stunning woman with long, silvery hair, brown skin, and gentle purple eyes. Beneath those eyes were pink triangle-shaped markings that looked to be glowing faintly. Even though the clothes she wore were old and had known plenty of mending, they were clean and fit her slender frame easily. Despite the garments, there was a regal aura about her. His first impression of her that she appeared to be a leader wasn’t wrong; Shay and those similar to her stood in a loose circle behind her, not in fear but in deep respect. Why, however, Keith couldn’t begin to understand. He had no idea of who these people were, what they were doing here, and even less of what their societal hierarchy might be like.

Without surprise, he realised that Lance was gaping at Allura the way he was wont to do with pretty girls.

“Allow me to fetch you water and bandages,” she said once everybody had gotten a good look at her. “Afterwards, there’s a story I wish to tell you. In the meantime, please don’t leave this cave; it’s dangerous in the tunnels for those not used to this place. I’ll be back in a few ticks.”

With one departing smile, she was off, her retinue of aliens following her unquestioningly.

The first one to talk was Matt; he rounded on Pidge, demanding to know why in hell she’d been in a warzone. She looked chastised for half a second before she retorted, not at all cowed by her brother’s scowling face.

Keith didn’t listen to her explanations—this wasn’t any of his business. He had Shiro to deal with. When he turned to talk to his friend, he saw that he was staring at him with an odd expression and that his cheeks had turned the faintest shade of pink. Confused, he watched him hurriedly unbuckle his bulletproof vest, letting it fall to the floor. He then unzipped and removed his uniform jacket that he handed him with a pointed clearing of his throat. As he took it, Keith looked down at himself and finally understood: the dress was ruined. The skirt had been torn to ribbons, exposing his bright red underwear. The corset was mostly fine, though the white fabric of the undershirt was wet and clung obscenely to his chest. He normally wouldn’t have given a shit about his appearance, but this was Shiro standing in front of him, so he put on the jacket rapidly, face hot. It swallowed him in loose fabric, covering him from neck to mid-thigh, giving him back some modesty. And, damn it, did it smell heavenly—he had to stop himself from actually sniffing at the collar. The smell of Shiro’s aftershave suffused him, bringing with it memories of youth and days spent together getting up to no good.

“Should I ask what you were doing up there?” Shiro asked.

There was a tiny hint of teasing in his voice, just enough to tell him he didn’t want to know the truth. Plausible deniability—if Shiro didn’t ask, Keith wouldn’t answer, and if he didn’t answer, Shiro wouldn’t know the truth and therefore couldn’t report on him. Keith looked at him, warmth blossoming in his heart at the mere sight of that smile. He wanted to hug him; he wanted to march to that amazing man, wrap his arms around that strong chest, and squeeze until everything felt right again. He knew Shiro would welcome the gesture—the guy was the most tactile person he had ever met. He didn’t, however, not while they were in that strange place.

“We were only taking a stroll,” he answered, smiling back. “You know, enjoying the cool night air. We were just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I see. That explains those bruises on your face; the air hurt your face.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Are you hurt, by the way? I saw you getting shot.”

Shiro rubbed a hand over his shoulder where he’d taken the bullet and winced. Since there was no wound there, he shook his head. “Just a bruise; the vest stopped the bullet.”

“Let me see; you could have a hole in your shoulder and you wouldn’t tell me.”

And that wasn’t even an exaggeration. Keith marched to Shiro and tugged on the collar of his black undershirt to expose the skin of his shoulder. Although there was thankfully no hole, there was a large, purpling bruise that would surely be painful in the morning. The scars he glimpsed were old, dating from those two years of… of whatever had happened that Shiro refused to talk about. Keith had seen his naked back once, and the skin there had been covered in thick cicatrices. Nothing short of torture left that kind of twisted wounds, yet Shiro had never mentioned it, thus Keith had stopped asking even though his heart bled at the thought that someone had hurt his friend.

“Meh, you should live,” he concluded, taking a step back. “So, what do you make of this?” He encompassed the cave with a wave of his hand. “What is this place?”

Shiro looked around, thick eyebrows lowered in a frown. “I have no idea, I’ve never heard of such a thing. Of course, over the course of centuries, stories about people living underground have always been bountiful, but those had never been more than stories to me before.”

“It wouldn’t be that surprising—there’s a shitton of stuff the Galras aren’t telling us.”

“For the moment, we should simply be thankful that Allura was kind enough to help you. Your friends got themselves in quite the predicament, Keith. You could’ve been killed.”

Keith looked away, ashamed that he’d made Shiro worry again. “That wasn’t our intent, I swear; we were trying to get home when we heard the gunshots. Aren’t you gonna be into hot water now?”

Shiro shrugged. “Most likely. That is, if any of our colleagues survive the assault. We were somewhat outgunned back there; I’m not sure Matt and I would have made it out in one piece without Allura’s help.”

Keith pointed at the jacket he was wearing. “That’s not your usual uniform, that’s the CTAC one.”

“Yes. As you probably know, the DEA is investigating the death of two young men that happened last night. We received a tip that there was going to be a turf war over the territory around the Fightdome, so we joined forces with the CTAC to stop it. We thought this might be related to our current investigation. Once we arrived, however, we were assaulted by some cartel members armed with automatic weapons. That alone is grave enough to get them arrested, but they fired at us despite us identifying ourselves as policemen. Should any of them survive, they’re going to be in trouble.”

Trouble was the least of it―they were going to be either executed or sent to a terraforming colony to spend the rest of their miserable lives toiling in a hostile environment. Keith had no idea which punishment was the worse. Shiro, wary of hurting his sensibilities, didn’t mention this. When he was a teenager, this habit of shielding him from the truth had pissed him off. Nonce, he found it most endearing; a tiny, repressed part of himself purred at the thought that Shiro wanted to protect him, that Shiro believed him innocent enough to be hurt by harsh truths. It also confused him a little because he usually loathed being patronized or considered weak. Still, coming from Shiro, it was an entirely different story.

“As long as you’re not in trouble,” he concluded.

“By the way, who are your friends?” Shiro asked with a smile. “I’d like to meet my little brother’s people.”

Oh, did he hate being called _little brother_ ―he hadn’t considered himself Shiro’s little brother ever since he’d turned fourteen and his childish infatuation for the man had turned into full-blown love. There were days the pet name physically hurt, as though Shiro was driving a stake through his heart. Every time he heard it, it made him despair that Shiro would never see him for what he was now, a grown man, not a child in need of a saviour.

He swallowed the taste of bile from the back of his throat. Pointing, he named every other person present in the cave with them while Shiro listened raptly.

“So, this Lance, he is your boyfriend, correct?” Shiro asked with a smile.

Keith didn’t know what surprised him the most: the assumption that he was more than Lance’s friend or the pleased expression on Shiro’s face. He looked happy by this, happy that Keith had a significant other. He’d never said that Lance was his boyfriend, Shiro had just assumed that. In a way, it made sense that he would come to such a conclusion: they lived together, spent time together, slept together. For Shiro, the only explanation possible was that they were going out. It probably never crossed his mind that they might be nothing more than fuck friends. Hell, he considered him innocent to the point that he undoubtedly thought he was still a virgin who’d never kissed anyone despite knowing what his job was.

“Wrong,” he corrected with a mock shiver. “Lance’s my big brother.”

He loved Shiro more than life itself, but the man could be dense sometimes―no matter the hints he dropped, Shiro never picked them up, not any of them. He nodded at his explanation and went to formally introduce himself. He shook hands with Lance like he was Keith’s father meeting Keith’s boyfriend for the first time. Lance’s eyes were huge as he stared up at Shiro who dwarfed him, his hand nearly twice bigger than his. Still, Shiro was a gentle giant and Lance picked up on this immediately. Although he visibly relaxed, the awe never quite left his face. Keith observed them interacting, two of the most important people in his life. It kind of amazed him that he’d never thought to introduce them to each other. They were both part of his life, yet his life had always been a double one. They didn’t belong together—they belonged on either side of the bridge, fated to be connected only because of him. Shiro the policeman and Lance the drug dealer would never have met if not for him. It seemed surreal to watch them, like the two halves of his life were coming together. He liked that, for some reason.

Shiro talked to Hunk and Panchito too, shaking their hands. In the meantime, Matt and Pidge talked together in low voices apart from the others. Keith observed them out the corner of his eye. Matt looked somewhat angry while he obviously lectured Pidge; the girl had her arms crossed over her chest, pouting, her eyes turned away. Knowing Matt, he wasn’t pissed, merely scared for his sister―seeing her caught in the crossfire between policemen and gang members had surely shaved a few years off his life. In the end, he heaved a sigh and pulled her to him, hugging her tightly. She melted in his embrace, allowing Keith a glimpse of her softer side. He could tell that these two clearly loved each other dearly. If Pidge had told him what she was up to, Matt was going to kill poor Lance for daring put his sister in harm’s way.

“How’s your shoulder?” Keith asked Lance, seeing him standing to the side.

The sleeve of his jacket was drenched in blood and he kept his arm close to his chest as though it pained him to move it. Now that he paid attention, Keith realised how pale he looked; he was white beneath the otherwise healthy light brown of his skin.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s obviously not. Let me see.”

Keith didn’t listen to his protests―he tugged at the jacket, being careful not to hurt him further. Lance gasped, his face losing all colour. The fabric was soggy with drying blood, which was a lot more than Keith had expected. Worry filled him, and it only doubled once the jacket was removed: through the large gash in Lance’s shirt, a big cut could be seen, jagged on the edges. It went from the bony point of his shoulder almost to his elbow. Blood dribbled down the length of his forearm to form a puddle at his side. Stupid, Keith thought as he eyed it. He should have known this was serious—Lance was never quiet about a wound unless it was deadly serious.

Allura thankfully chose this moment to reappear. She’d brought the promised supplies and, the second she saw Lance’s wound, she went to help. They all watched as she forced him out of his shirt to tend to the gash herself whilst Lance looked torn between swooning at the blood and swooning at her touch. Keith had rarely seen him that complaisant while she washed, cleaned, and then neatly sutured the injury shut like a pro. The tools she used were antiquated, the same type used by Veronica’s illegal clinic. Veronica, Lance’s older sister and a nurse, had said those were remnants of tools used by humans before the flood, nothing comparable to what the people from upper town used.

“Pidge said you got my girlfriend’s dress destroyed,” Matt said at his elbow.

Keith peered at him out the corner of his eye. “I can give it back to you if you want to. I just never suspected you to like your girls tall and manly.”

Matt snorted. “Yeah, I like my girls tall and manly, the total opposite of you. And no, keep the dress, Pidge says it suits you.”

“Pidge’s the one who got us into this mess in the first place.”

“I know, she told me.”

Keith turned to look at him fully, wary. “What?”

“I’m not stupid,” Matt commented grimly. “I know she wants to help with the money. I saw her work, I suspected she might turn to drugs. It’s the fastest way to earn a lot of dough in this city, after all. In a way, I’m kind of glad she aligned herself with you and your insignificant boyfriend; at least you’re not dangerous.”

“What are you going to do?”

Matt glanced at Shiro, then said: “I’m not going to say anything to anyone. I’m not sending my little sister to jail.”

“So you’re a corrupt cop.”

“You better thank some deity that I am, otherwise you’d find your ass in jail.” Matt sighed and ran a hand through his long, brown hair. “It’s not because I’m a cop that I can’t understand how the real world works.”

“No, it’s because you grew up on the other side of the bridge.”

“Oh, please, you’re not naïve enough to think the other side isn’t as shitty as this one, it’s simply a different type of shit. We also got our drug lords and pimps and crooks and twists, the problem is that we cannot send those to jail because they’re either Galrans or have good connections to them.”

Keith observed Matt with newfound respect―this wasn’t the same bright-eyed young policeman he’d met as a teenager, the idealistic boy from a rich family who’d never known hardship a day in his life. This was the man who’d disappeared alongside Shiro for two years and who’d come back changed, hardened, toughened, awakened to the real world.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t strangle you in your sleep if you don’t do everything in your power to protect my little sister.”

Keith bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. “Fair enough. The same warning goes for you: protect Shiro or I’ll make you sorry.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Thank you for being patient; this chapter is a bit late!
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -Some action  
> -Violence

“I am originally from planet Altea,” Allura began softly while she worked on Lance’s wound. “My father was King Alfor. We were a peaceful planet. Our people were ambassadors; we would be called to mediate for warring planets and our skills helped put a stop to many squabbles. My father was friends with a man named Zarkon who happened to be the Emperor of the Galrans. Zarkon was much different than from what he is now; he used to be… kinder, more patient, and more open. He was seen as a warrior, but the good kind that promoted arts and technological advancements. He enjoyed hanging out with my father since he was a great scientist himself. Zarkon funded many projects realised by Altean scientists. Our two peoples were joined at the hip, so to speak. One day, however, Zarkon began investigating a sort of… temporal rift that had opened near his planet. An Altean scientist called Honerva went to help and they worked closely together for the longest time. Honerva soon became obsessed with that rift; she wanted to harness its unlimited powers. Zarkon supported her thoroughly, even when her experimentations became dangerous. She wished to enlarge it to see if anything would pass through to our side. She turned to my father for help on this, but he refused. He tried to talk sense into Zarkon and her, to no avail. There was a thing in the rift called quintessence, a form of energy that is found in everything: people, plants, animals, even in between realities.

There is indeed more than one reality, though let’s not get lost in pedantic. In itself, quintessence is neither good nor bad; it’s merely a tool that’s there to be utilized. Used in the right way, it can heal, power machines, act as a material in alchemical formulas, all kinds of things. I have no doubt that, at the beginning, Zarkon genuinely wished to use it to fuel his ships and his machinery. Sadly, his overlong contact with the substance started to change him, like it had started changing Honerva. It brought the worst out of them, twisting them until they were nothing more than sad parodies of what they had once been. In the end, the prolonged exposure ended up killing Honerva. During that time, Daibazaal, Zarkon’s planet, suffered: the rift kept being widened, which put tremendous strain on the planet’s core. What happened there isn’t that dissimilar to the catastrophes Earth went through that nearly destroyed it. Zarkon was too fixated on the quintessence found in between realities to think about closing the rift, putting his whole home world in peril. Following Honerva’s death, in a desperate attempt to save her, he took a ship and brought her _inside_ the rift, thinking the quintessence might be able to save her. Instead, it killed him. Maybe because of their overexposure to quintessence, neither of them truly died. They… changed. Nobody knew, and funerals were held for them, led by my father. The moment it became evident that Daibazaal could no longer sustain the pressure of the rift, my father had the whole planet evacuated and destroyed, hoping to stop the rift from expanding. This didn’t sit well with Zarkon at all―he seemed to totally forget that he used to be a good friend of my father’s. He blamed him for his planet’s destruction, saying it had been hasty and uncalled for. He rallied the Galras to his cause. In a short time, war erupted between our two nations. The Alteans are not a militaristic people, and I’m ashamed to say the Galras wiped us out fairly easily. Zarkon killed my father and kidnapped me alongside a few other Alteans. We were brought here and, since then, we’ve been working alongside the Balmerans inside those mines.”

Nobody had spoken during her speech. Keith listened against his will, uncertain what to do with that information. Not only was this a lot to absorb, he wasn’t exactly sure why he should care. This sounded tragic, yet it was nothing he hadn’t heard a thousand times; everybody knew the Galras were colonists who conquered planets and wiped out their inhabitants. This was kind of what they’d done to Earth too. Still, he kept his peace, feeling this wasn’t his place to talk; Allura had saved them, after all, and if it pleased her to talk about her past while they listened, he wouldn’t begrudge her that.

“What are you doing inside those mines?” Hunk asked, looking around as though the bare-stone walls held the answer.

“We are mining,” Allura answered with a small quirk of her lips. “Well, the Balmerans are the miners.” She gestured towards Shay and the others who resembled her. “We Alteans supply them with quintessence to make sure they don’t tire too quickly; Alteans are born with the gift of harvesting quintessence. We do so harmlessly and in a small-enough quantity not to cause any pain to the entity we take it from.”

“What do you mine?” Pidge asked next, looking interested.

“Your Earth is full of materials and minerals,” Shay said, touching one wall almost reverently. “We are adept at finding them and extracting them because we feel their vibrations through the soil. It is a tiring process, which is why the Alteans have to refill us, in a way.”

“And what do the Galrans do with those materials?” Shiro inquired.

“They build weapons and ships,” Allura said in a soft, sad voice.

“That is sick!” Lance suddenly exclaimed, his voice echoing off the naked stone walls. “They can’t treat you that way! You’re people!”

Allura looked at him with a small, gentle smile on her face, likely amused by his naivety. “I know. That’s what they do. Oh, dear, I believe I never caught your names? Only Shiro introduced himself.”

Lance grinned charmingly at her. “The name’s Lance. Nice to meet you.” Of course, he used that flirty, low voice of his that made him sound totally ridiculous. “Thanks for saving my pals and me.”

Keith rolled his eyes as they eagerly shook Allura’s hand and gave her their name. The situation bothered him. It gave him the chills that they were stuck beneath the surface of the Earth with a bunch of aliens nobody had ever heard of. Sure, Allura was nice, he just didn’t see the need to become friendly with her. He kept his thoughts to himself, unwilling to annoy their host; he wasn’t sure they’d be able to make it back out of the tunnels without her help, and there was no way in hell he was spending the rest of his life down here.

He saw that, of them all, Pidge and Matt also appeared reluctant to befriend Allura. Pidge had a disinterested look on her face that conveyed the impression she couldn’t give a damn about these people. Although Matt was polite, obviously enchanted by Allura, there was a distant look to his eyes, like he was trying to remember something. He kept to himself, barely talking, which was odd for him considering he was usually such a chatterbox.

“I wish there was something we could do to help,” Hunk said.

“We can’t,” Keith barked, harsher than intended. At their looks of surprise, he rolled his eyes and said: “Come on, guys. We’re nobodies.” He didn’t dare admit out loud that they were drug dealers, not in front of Shiro. “We can hardly take care of ourselves. We live on the fringes of society. It’s sad what’s going on down there, but there’s nothing we can do, not against the Galras. You know that.”

A pause. “That’s harsh,” Lance retorted. “Allura doesn’t deserve—“

“Oh, Lance, please,” Keith cut. “You say that only because she’s pretty; if she were a random fat man, you’d be demanding they lead us back to the surface. We have enough on our plate already without having to deal with your horniness.”

“Keith!” Lance whined.

“Keith, that’s quite enough,” Shiro chided gently. He patted Keith’s shoulder before smiling apologetically at Allura. “I apologize for Keith’s outburst, miss. He isn’t deaf to your plight, he is simply right in his assumption that there’s little we can do to help. I’m with the police force, and even my hands are tied. Should we come back to the surface with tales of people living underground to mine minerals, I assure you we’d be thrown in the nearest asylum.”

Keith immediately melted under the touch. He relaxed with a sigh, letting this go. It didn’t matter what he said—Lance was a good guy with a good heart, it was a given that he’d want to help Allura and her friends. Keith couldn’t change that.

“Oh, I believe you mistook my intent,” Allura said with a shake of her head. “I’m not asking for help, I just thought I might explain our presence here. As you say, you people on the surface have no idea that there’s life down here. I know very well there’s nothing your small group can do to help us, sadly.”

There was no rebuke in her tone, yet Keith felt chastised. Deciding he no longer wanted to partake into this conversation that led nowhere, he went to sit on his own with his back against a wall. He was exhausted and cold and hungry, and this was the best possible way to make him lose his temper. He allowed Lance to talk with Allura, telling himself there was no harm in it. Panchito eventually got over his own shyness and joined his cousin. Allura preened a little under the attention. In the meantime, Hunk appeared to be in a deep conversation with Shay and some of her people. From what Keith could guess, they were talking about materials and minerals, Shay explaining how the Balmerans mined them. Despite her initial reticence, Pidge ultimately joined them, her natural curiosity overcoming her annoyance at the situation. She was like him; she knew they had no time to deal with the Alteans and the Balmerans since they had their own stuff going to keep their mind busy.

“Are you cold?” Shiro asked as he sat beside him.

Keith huddled deeper inside the jacket, glad for it. “No,” he lied.

Shiro chuckled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders to tug him closer. Keith allowed it, leaned into it actually. He revelled in the other man’s warmth and solid presence. It reminded him of the cold winter evenings of his youth when he’d huddle between Shiro and Adam on the couch, glad not to be on the street. He knew this meant nothing; his friend was merely sharing his body warmth with someone he knew to be cold. His stupid heart nonetheless beat faster; Shiro could punch him in the face that he would thank him for it.

“What’s wrong with Matt?” he asked. “He’s been awfully quiet.”

“I don’t know. I asked him and he doesn’t want to talk about it. I’ll leave him be for the moment. Maybe he’s simply angry that Pidge got herself into trouble.” Shiro paused delicately, then asked: “Is she in trouble?”

“No. She’s trouble, but she’s not in trouble.”

Shiro laughed, a sound that put a smile on Keith’s lips. “I know. She means well, though. It’s been hard on her. She’s a tough girl, she’ll pull through. I just wish things had been different.”

While he said that, Shiro flexed his prosthetic arm reflexively, something he often did whenever he skirted the subject of what had happened during his disappearance. He claimed he’d lost his right arm during those two years and that, as thanks for his noble sacrifice, the Galra government had paid for him to receive a prosthetic. Keith didn’t believe this bullshit story; he had wanted to squeeze Shiro for more information, yet he’d known that the man had to have a reason to avoid telling the whole truth. He didn’t dare press on a wound that might still be painful, so he waited, hoping that his friend would open up one day. Adam had told him that Shiro suffered from horrifying nightmares and it showed in his pale face and tired eyes; he looked older than his twenty-nine years, especially with that streak of white hair that flopped in his eyes. There were new lines on his face that hadn’t been there before. He was more serious than he’d ever been, quieter, more withdrawn. Keith was ready to bet every last credit he had that Shiro had been tortured—why or by whom remained to be discovered.

That thought sent a flare of hatred and need to protect up his back that instantly warmed him. He couldn’t believe that someone, anyone, would have wished to hurt that gentle man; Shiro was such a good, loving soul, he’d never harm a fly. Why would anyone think he’d deserve to be tortured?

Not thinking, Keith reached out and traced the scar on the bridge of Shiro’s nose. “Does it still hurt?”

Shiro smiled slightly and leaned into the touch. “No. It’s healed a while ago.”

The skin beneath his fingers felt odd, twisted. He’d seen his fair share of scars in his days to know this one had been inflected by a blade. Shit, a couple of inches higher and it would have taken Shiro’s eyes.

Out the corner of his eye, Keith spotted Lance’s conspiratorial smirk. He hurriedly pulled his hand away, blushing. What an idiot he was, trying to flirt with Shiro in that incredibly unromantic setting in front of all those witnesses.

Later on, Allura decided it was time to bid them goodbye, explaining that she had to report to her Galra keepers to make sure they wouldn’t start looking for her. She was free to roam the catacombs on her own so long as she reported for duty at appointed times. To be honest, she did look sad to be leaving.

“I’ll be back in a matter of hours,” she assured a sad-looking Lance. “I will personally escort you back so you can go home. You should rest a little.”

“I will miss you!” Lance proclaimed.

Allura laughed. “I shall miss you fine people too, Lance. Should you need anything, Shay will be back soon. In the meantime, please, don’t leave this place. It’s for your own safety—the Galrans wouldn’t take kindly to strangers wandering the tunnels.”

She left, taking with her the Balmerans. For some reason, the cave looked gloomier without her bright presence. Lance settled back, a pout on his face that gave the feeling the love of his life had marched away on him. Hunk talked excitedly with Pidge about what Shay had told him, the two of them apparently still full of energy despite everything that had happened. Panchito was the first to fall asleep, snoring while he lay on his side, unbothered by the hard, rocky ground. Keith remained seated by Shiro’s side, unwilling to move. He was exhausted—everything that had happened in the last hours left him confused and annoyed. He wished they could go back home, take stock of what had happened, and see where they now stood. Instead, they were stuck here in an underground facility, hearing about mining aliens. Like he cared about that.

He must have dozed off because he became aware of his surroundings again when he was softly jostled. Groaning, he opened his eyes just in time to see Shiro smile apologetically at him. One of the policeman’s hands was cupping his head whilst the other held his shoulder as he laid him down gently. Confused, Keith remained unmoving for a moment to gather his bearings. Shiro got to his feet quietly and crossed the room to converse with Matt in hushed tones. They were the only two left awake. Matt stood by the entry of the cave, his features pulled into a stubborn frown. Shiro shook his head at whatever his friend said. Matt shrugged, muttered, and exited their hiding place. Shiro hesitated a second, then quickly followed. Keith was on his feet and on their tail before he knew what he was doing.

“Keith, don’t,” Shiro whispered the minute he spotted him following. “It’s dangerous.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here. Where are you going?”

The two men exchanged a glance he didn’t understand. Matt then said: “I want to see what’s going on down here. Allura said she’d show us; I don’t think she will.”

“Who cares what’s going on?” Keith hissed in annoyance. “She said it’s dangerous! The place’s crawling with Galras! Do you want to get captured or killed?”

Matt shivered violently at this. Keith suddenly remembered Pidge saying she was sure the Galras had a hand in her brother’s disappearance, and that shiver told him more than words could. In spite of this, Matt shook his head stubbornly. With no word, he turned on his heels and began marching again. He’d taken one of the small lamps from the cave to light his way. The red glow bobbed as he walked, throwing their shadows into tall, sharp reliefs against the walls. Shiro followed him and Keith followed Shiro, gritting his teeth; even by his standards, this was ridiculous.

The way branched off a few times. The tunnels eventually widened significantly and the roof became lost in darkness. Matt’s little lamp did little to keep the obscurity at bay. It was cold and humid down here, the cool air making Keith shiver. Still, he followed, never suggesting they go back.

They were nearly at a bend in a corridor when they heard voices. They stopped in their tracks, listening. Matt swiftly removed his jacket and wrapped it around the lamp to muffle its glow. The ensuing gloom felt like a crawling, living thing. While they listened, the voices thankfully got further away. This made Keith realise how damn stupid they were being; what would they do if they stumbled upon some Galras? He had no doubt they could fight their way out of immediate trouble, yet they couldn’t kill people and leave a trail of bodies in their wake. They were trapped down here until Allura returned, they had to be discreet.

Matt nonetheless pushed on determinedly and at no time did Shiro speak up to stop him. Keith had no idea what drove them; they were usually level-headed blokes, smart enough not to beg after trouble. This felt important, however; he didn’t know how or why, simply that it had to be done.

The literal light at the end of the tunnel indicated they were reaching an important place. They slowed their pace, making sure to remain in the shadows. Voices and all matters of sounds could now be heard. They were too far to see what was happening, but Keith guessed there were many people in there.

“I need to see,” Matt whispered, lips barely moving.

Shiro gazed at him for a long moment before nodding sharply once. Matt handed him the lamp still covered by his jacket. He then inched his way towards the mouth of the tunnel, keeping low, ready to run back at a second’s notice. Keith watched him go, uncertain what to do―this was beyond dangerous. His heart hammered inside his chest and sweat beaded on his face. Shiro was breathing steadily beside him, the only outward sign of his anxiety being a deep furrow between his thick eyebrows. He was tense, all senses on high alert. He looked potent, Keith thought; this was a side of him he had very rarely seen, the side he kept buried deep enough it might as well not exist.

He thought they’d make it out unscathed, was positively convinced they wouldn’t get caught that he almost missed it: the shuffle of feet coming from behind them. He turned and came face to face with two equally surprised Galras. They stared at each other for a brief instant. Time stopped while understanding dawned on the guards. By some cosmic luck, they had batons instead of guns.

Keith didn’t think: he jumped on the nearest Galra, ramming his shoulder into the man’s unprotected chest. The Galras were generally much taller and bigger than humans, so even though his blow landed perfectly, his opponent’s size kept him from flying off his feet like intended. He stumbled back, forcing Keith to follow. An elbow to the chin sent the Galra reeling amidst a flow of blood and broken, sharp teeth. The punch Keith next aimed at the nose didn’t connect; his closed fist was batted aside when the Galra tried to regain his footing. He had no time to try again—Shiro was on the guard, prosthetic arm glowing a faint purplish light. His punch landed square on the man’s nose. This time, the force of the blow sent him flying and he landed on his back. Shiro finished him off quickly.

“I had him!” Keith hissed.

“Are you hurt?” Shiro asked gently.

He shook his head in annoyance. Shiro had dispatched two Galras on his own without breaking a sweat―that display of brute strength humbled him, reminded him how clearly stronger his friend was.

Hearing the scuffle, Matt hurried back, eyes wide, looking kind of pale in the reddish glow of the lamp.

“Damn it,” he swore the moment he spotted to two dead guards. “We better go back before another patrol runs into us.”

Keith wanted to roll his eyes at this; it was Matt’s fault that they were here in the first place. He didn’t say so, merely followed him as they retraced their steps. Shiro guarded their rear, wary that they might be caught. It was stupid; even if they weren’t caught, those two Galras were bound to be found eventually. They’d immediately suspect the Alteans and the Balmerans of foul play, surely never suspecting that intruders had done the deed. He hoped Allura and her people didn’t get into trouble for this.

Going back proved more challenging than expected since none of them remembered the exact path they’d taken. Every tunnel looked the same in the gloom. To make things worse, their lamp was running low on fuel; the flame inside its glass casing spluttered feebly, throwing shards of unreliable light. Twice, they stumbled upon dead ends and had to go back. If Shiro and Matt were worried, they hid it well. While they walked, Keith kept glancing at Shiro’s serious face―this was a face he wasn’t used to seeing. Every time they were together, Shiro was always smiling gently. Even during their sparring sessions, there would always be a hint of good cheer in his eyes. This wasn’t the case right now: he was in full policeman mode. Keith shivered at the sight; were he a petty criminal encountering this guy on the street, he’d behave and do exactly as ordered. As though sensing his gaze, Shiro turned to bestow a tiny smile upon him, the quirk of the lips a small sign of reassurance. Keith stupidly believed him; not unlike a child being told by a parent that everything would be all right, he believed blindly—nothing could go wrong when Shiro was here, nothing could go wrong when they were together.

It was Allura who found them: she seemingly materialised in front of them at the bend of a corridor, the light falling on her unpleased features making them jump. Her eyes appeared to glow in the darkness. She raised an eyebrow at them and Keith felt no different than a kid being chastised by a motherly figure. She pressed her finger against her lips in the universal gesture of keeping quiet, then beckoned them to follow her. They obeyed silently. The ground underfoot was rocky with tiny pebbles rolling beneath their boots. The air felt colder here and Keith shivered—this cursed place somehow reminded him of a tomb. The earth above his head felt like it pressed down on him, oppressive. Crap, he couldn’t wait to be outside again and see the watery glow of what passed for sunlight these days.

Later on, Allura said in a low voice: “You dolts, you nearly marched right into the Galran central command! What were you thinking, wandering off on your own? You’ve been missing for hours!”

“We’re sorry,” Shiro said honestly. “There was simply something we needed to check.”

Allura sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m escorting you back out now, your friends are waiting for you.”

 Had they really been missing for hours? Keith could hardly believe it. Time was wrapped down here, away from natural light. He wondered how the folks stuck in those caves managed it; he’d go crazy if he had to spend more than one day down here.

They finally rejoined the others. Their lamp had been abandoned on the way and they relied solely on Allura to navigate the pitch black corridors, keeping in close formation. More than once, Keith bumped into Matt’s back whenever the man slowed down. He could feel Shiro’s breath down the back of his neck and, in the close, dark confines, his mind played dirty tricks on him; he kept imaging the same thing happening in his bedroom, with Shiro behind him, face pressed into his sweaty hair... He shook his head―no, no, now wasn’t the time to be having wet daydreams about his friend.

There was an air of relief the moment his group rejoined Lance’s. Although Allura assured them this was where they had come into the mines, Keith didn’t recognize the place at all.

“Are you certain it is safe outside?” Shiro asked Allura.

She smiled and nodded towards Shay. “Yes, Shay made sure. There are no humans in the abandoned plant. Her brother has been monitoring the situation closely. Apparently, there was a lot of action a while back, though it’s calm now; you’ll be able to leave unnoticed.” She hesitated. “I must ask you to be very quiet about what you’ve seen.”

“What, why?” Lance demanded, sounding insulted. “We should tell the world of what’s happening down there! It’s inhuman, forcing you to live in those caves!”

Allura smiled at him. “Lance, this is very sweet of you to say, but I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do on your own. The Galras want our presence to be a secret; should you talk about what you’ve witnessed here, you’ll surely get hurt and that’s the last thing I want to happen.”

“We won’t breathe word of any of this,” Shiro assured gravely. “Although, for the record, I must say that I agree with Lance.”

“Shiro, you’re a policeman, can’t you speak up?” Hunk asked.

Shiro hesitated before shaking his head. “I doubt very much I could do anything; I don’t have any real power on the force.”

“You’re so popular!” Lance insisted. “Everybody loves you! They’d listen to you!”

“Don’t be daft!” Keith cut in, exasperated. “There’d be no proof of what Shiro’s saying! People won’t believe him simply because he says it! That would only put him in danger! I’m sorry for Allura and her people, but I’m not putting Shiro’s life on the line for that.”

Lance looked truly hurt by this and Keith had to resist the urge to shake him—he was being stubborn only because he had a puppy crush on Allura. Otherwise, he’d see how stupid even suggesting opening their mouths about those mines was.

“Keith isn’t wrong,” Matt added. “We have no proof. For all we know, people will think it’s normal; it’s a known fact that humans don’t care that much about other species. There aren’t many aliens in upper town, mostly Galra folk, and it’s them who matter.”

This sobered Lance up. Matt was right—most aliens who elected to live permanently in Neo-Metropolis were located in low town. They had their own neighbourhoods, sometimes nothing more than a ghetto unsafe to wander through at night. Those who could live on the other side of the bridge were allies of the Galra, hand-picked, and few in numbers. Allies of the emperor wouldn’t give a hoot about the way Zarkon treated two species nobody had ever heard of; those who might object were those similarly disfavoured and reviled, the kind nobody would listen to.

Allura smiled sadly at Lance and rested a hand on his shoulder. He instantly perked up, pulling a brave face for her sake.

One of the Balmerans climbed up a cleverly-concealed ladder up the top where they opened the trapdoor. The grey light that filtered through hurt their eyes, forcing them all to look away.

As Keith awaited his turn to climb up, Allura pulled him aside gently. When she asked him whether she could look at his knife, he hesitated for a second; why was she asking this? It seemed weird and random. He stared into her eyes, trying to understand. There was something hard that hadn’t been there before; her face was serious, her demeanour commanding. Grunting, he pulled out the knife, resting it on the palm of his hands for her inspection. She peered at it, her lips pressed in a tight line. He couldn’t read her expression, couldn’t tell what she was thinking, and she suddenly looked far less friendly.

She turned away from him without a word, leaving him puzzled. He had no time to ask—Shiro was already beckoning at him to get up the ladder. With one last look over his shoulder at the strange woman, Keith put the knife away and climbed the rungs to the blessedly cool and open air of the surface.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments! I hope you enjoy this new super long chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -Past drug use

The glare of the late evening sky hurt his eyes. He used his hand to shield them, blinking tears away. The air felt wonderfully cool against his skin. It was raining and he didn’t care―at least he was no longer underground, in tunnels that made him feel entombed. He listened disinterestedly while Matt tried to convince Pidge to accompany them back home. She said she didn’t want to be seen in a police cruiser when she had work to do on this side of the bridge. Matt looked at his wit’s end; this had clearly been an ordeal for him. Shiro finally convinced her, mostly by smiling and being nice and making it as if she were doing them a favour.

In the good light, Keith saw how ragged the two policemen looked: their black uniforms were covered in white dust, torn in many places; they had bruises on their exposed skin, their hair was in disarray, and they had dark circles beneath their eyes. This had been a long night for all of them, but Keith suspected this went deeper for Matt and Shiro. He didn’t ask, knowing neither of them would answer his questions. He’d tried prying, hell, even Adam had tried, yet Shiro had resisted them both; he kept insisting that he had forgotten everything that had happened during his two years of captivity, that the concussion he’d suffered had wiped the memories from his brain. The story sounded fake, weak, and Keith hated doubting him. He couldn’t bring himself to fully believe him, for he’d known him long enough to spot the telltale signs of a lie or a half-truth.

“I should give you back your jacket,” Keith said to Shiro whilst they stood awkwardly next to each other. “It’s not safe for me to walk around town with it.”

Shiro cleared his throat. “Erm, it’s probably not safe for you either to walk… _underdressed_ as you are.”

 The thing was, Keith wanted to keep the jacket; it smelled like the other man and he imagined it still held a hint of his warmth. Furthermore, although he’d never admit it to anyone, he liked the thought of wearing a piece of clothing that belonged to Shiro. At one time in the past, he’d been bold to the point of stealing one of his shirts. He still had it—it had to be the garment he cared for the most. The jacket was better and the bold lettering _police_ didn’t bother him in the slightest. In fact, he was pretty sure people would respect him more for it; they’d believe he’d stolen it from a policeman, never once thinking it had been given to him freely.

He nonetheless made a show of being uncertain, somewhat ashamed of himself at the sheer need to possess anything of his friend’s. Of course, Shiro unsurprisingly insisted he kept the jacket, saying it was cold and raining and he didn’t want Keith to catch a cold, as though he got sick in the first place. He thanked Shiro, promising to return the jacket at their next meeting.

“You know, you should visit more often,” Shiro said. They stood by the cruiser, out of line of the dashcam. “We miss you.”

Keith pulled a face. “Adam told you to say that?”

Shiro laughed. “No! I miss you, really. Maybe we could spar? Or take our hoverbikes out for a race in the desert.” He smiled playfully. “I want to see if you’re getting better. You beat me last time, remember?”

Keith’s heart swelled in his chest―he was close to his feelings without knowing how to communicate them and therefore envied Shiro’s ease at speaking his mind. Oh, Shiro would never say that he was feeling bad or bothered, yet he had no qualms about admitting out loud he missed hanging out with his little brother. It was endearing and embarrassing in equal measures.

“Yeah, I do remember.”

Keith had won only because Shiro hadn’t been sleeping; Adam had mentioned terrible nightmares and tossing and turning the whole night. Shiro had been pale like milk that day, his eyes sunken and dull, his broad shoulders drooping. There had been no joy in his victory; Keith had pretended to be happy for his friend’s sake. Shiro had needed a distraction and Keith had been most happy to provide it.

Shiro smiled and gently patted his hair. “Good. So I’ll be awaiting your visit, right? Oh, and visit Adam too; he might not say it, but I know he misses you.”

“Sure, I will.” Keith looked at him slyly. “You still spend a lot of time with him, don’t you?”

Shiro blushed. “Uh, not as much as I’d like.” He chuckled, embarrassed. “He just humours me.”

That was the thing, however: Adam didn’t humour Shiro. No matter how hard he tried pretending otherwise, everybody with eyes knew that he hadn’t stopped loving his ex, he was simply too proud to admit it. If he merely said something, merely gave a hint, the policeman would be his in the blink of an eye. In spite of the fact that they hadn’t been together for about five years, Shiro was still at Adam’s beck and call: one quirk of an eyebrow was enough for him to come running. Adam liked to pretend it was all casual, that they were only friends with benefits, but Keith—and everybody else—knew better.

“Right,” Keith said, doubtful.

“Anyway, I got to go.” Shiro looked a bit more serious now. “Keith, promise me you’ll be careful, all right? Low town can be dangerous. Every time I hear of a gang fight or some drug deal that went bad, I worry for you.”

Oh, he had to be blushing―his face burned. “Everything’s fine, I promise. I have nothing to do with gangs or drugs, that’s not my job.”

Shiro cleared his throat, cheeks colouring. Keith had to wonder if he were imagining his job and what it entailed.

Matt had apparently been watching them since he swooped in, slapping Shiro on the back. “Come on, big bro! Let’s go! I gotta bring Pidge back before my mom wrings my neck. And grounds her.”

“I’m too old to be grounded!” Pidge exclaimed. She turned towards Keith, saying in a low voice: “Keep me posted, will you? I want to know whether we got that plant or not. If we did, I’ll be back to help Hunk work on the you-know-what.”

“Uh, yeah, the you-know-what. Sure.”

Keith took a few steps back while the three others climbed into the police cruiser. The car had been vandalized overnight: large swathes of colourful paint hid the word _police_ , one of the back doors had a dent in it, and one of the windows was cracked in a spider web pattern. Matt scowled at this, grumbled as he climbed into the passenger seat. When Shiro closed the door, he turned to wave at Keith who waved back with a smile. He hated watching the car pull away―he wished he’d had more time with Shiro, time to spend alone together, to have fun, to just talk. There had been little chance to simply converse. Hell, he even had forgotten to ask him what he was going to say to his boss about what had happened here. The mess had already been cleaned, with only puddles of blood left to dry to show that violence had taken place. He was kind of surprised that the neighbourhood wasn’t crawling with policemen looking for their two missing colleagues.

Once the cruiser was out of sight, Keith decided it was time to go home. Lance and Hunk were in deep conversation about what had happened. The two of them had hit it off pretty well with both Allura and Shay, and they had the similar love-struck expression on their face that Keith disliked so much. Although he wasn’t quite surprised that Lance had been moved by a beautiful girl, he hadn’t expected Hunk to be the same. Shay wasn’t human—he definitely didn’t understand the attraction. What he understood was that this was becoming a distraction; neither man would be interested in working whilst the memories of what had happened underground remained fresh in their memories. Even right now, they were going on rambling on about how unfair the Galras were to the Alteans and Balmerans. This was ridiculous—they’d never cared about the other alien species that the Galras mistreated. Panchito thankfully had been spared the love madness; he just stood there looking exhausted, almost asleep on his feet. Keith decided to cozy up to him until Lance got to his senses.

“I’m going home,” he called. “You coming, Panchito?” Then, louder: “Lance, come on.”

Panchito nodded without mustering enthusiasm. Lance glanced at him prior to returning to his conversation with Hunk. Keith rolled his eyes—whatever, they were old enough to get by on their own. He grabbed Panchito’s arm, pulling him away. It rained and it was cold and he was annoyed by Lance’s stupid behaviour; it was like the idiot had forgotten why they’d been here in the first place.

While they made their way home, Keith surveyed the mess that was left after the earthquake. The epicentre had likely been located near the Fightdome because the farther they walked away, the lesser the destruction. Many old tenements had collapsed upon themselves, filling the streets with rubbles. Men, women, and children had erected makeshift tents and lean-tos everywhere as temporary habitations. The police presence was easily noticeable, as were the paramedics and firefighters. Fires had been extinguished a while ago, but the air still smelled of acrid smoke. Humans and aliens alike milled about in a daze. Some of them had lost everything: their house, their belongings, even their family. Row upon row of bodies covered in tarp lined the sidewalk and countless others certainly awaited discovery beneath the piles of fallen stones. There was no electricity to be had in several neighbourhoods since the lines had been severed by debris. Pipes also had suffered, which meant drinking water was in short supply. Campfires burned in the deepening gloom of evening, creating small circles of red light inside which people huddled miserably.

This sobered him up―he stopped feeling sorry for his predicament and forced himself to look at the desolate faces in case he might recognize one of them. Nobody looked back at him, too drawn into their own misery to care about what was going on around them.

Only two buildings had been damaged on their street, the others had escaped mostly unscathed. Electricity lines had been severed, thus their flat had no light or heat. Lance and Keith bid Hunk and Panchito good night. There was talk of texting each other in the morning, but they were too tired to bother at the moment. Lance texted his mother to ask if his family were fine―they apparently had been lucky since nobody had been wounded. The only one truly affected by the situation was Veronica who, as a nurse, had the duty to attend the wounded.

Lance lit a few old candles to chase the darkness out of the flat. It was chilly inside, much more than Keith would have liked. For an instant, he regretted not asking Shiro the permission to stay over for the night—there surely was no problem with the electricity on the other side of the bridge. Except he couldn’t have left Lance on his own, not with how shaken he looked by everything that had happened. Being brutally honest with himself, Keith had to admit that being on his own with Shiro might not have been the smartest of moves, for he was no longer sure of where they stood with each other. He was afraid his feelings might colour his attitude, that Shiro would catch on. Should he ask, Keith didn’t know what he’d answer. The truth? A white lie? A true lie? Did he even have the guts to lie? He didn’t know. He just knew that confessing everything right now wouldn’t be right for the both of them; he needed to be sure that Shiro returned his feelings before he said anything. He didn’t want to risk everything he had with the man for something he _might_ have.

“Let me change the bandages on your wound,” he offered. “You’re bleeding again.”

Lance nodded and sat on the couch in the living room while Keith fetched the first-aid kit from the bathroom. The old box of white plastic was well-worn and its smooth surface was familiar under his fingertips. How often had they pulled it out from beneath the sink after a situation had taken a turn for the worse? Veronica kept it well furnished, making sure everything they might need was there and that nothing expired. There were also instructions on how to deal with different types of wounds in case she couldn’t be reached fast enough to help. A couple of vials of morphine, bottles of various types of painkillers, clean syringes, meds to help clotting, penicillin to prevent infections, all kind of drugs that shouldn’t be found in an ordinary household. That damn little box with its more or less legal content had saved their lives more often than Keith cared to count. He grabbed bandages, a bottle of iodine to clean the wound, and gloves in order not to cause further harm. He hesitated, then took a syringe and the penicillin—better safe than sorry.

Lance suffered through the removal of the sticky old bandages. He sat with his shoulders hunched, hissing, breathing shallowly. The skin around the wound felt a tiny bit too hot to Keith’s liking, so he insisted on giving him the penicillin shot despite the other’s protest. Allura’s stitches held superbly, a credit to her skills.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Keith asked as he worked.

“Yeah.”

“Lance.”

“It’s just… I feel shitty for leaving them down there, okay? And I feel shitty for ever complaining about my shitty life before. Sure, it’s not all puppies and rainbows here, but it’s nothing compared to what Allura’s people have to go through daily. Can you imagine spending your life stuck in that place? Keith, we were there for half a day and my skin crawls just thinking about it. They’ve been there for years, decades perhaps.” He grunted the second Keith made to speak. “I know, there’s nothing we can do, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing we could help!”

Keith kept quiet for a moment, digesting this. “I understand,” he said, though he wasn’t sure he did. “You’re a good person, Lance.”

A scoff. “That’s just being a decent human being. I know you don’t see things my way, yet I know you’d help if you could.”

Would he? Would he help if he could? He didn’t know. He liked to think he would, that he would selflessly step in to help folks he barely knew. Maybe he would do it simply to follow Lance’s lead. He didn’t consider himself particularly altruistic; he’d willingly help people he knew—Lance and his family, Hunk and his, Pidge, Shiro, Matt, Adam, he’d kill to protect them. He didn’t know about strangers, however; his moral compass was too screwed. Even after all these years, he still didn’t understand why Lance’s parents had taken him in when they first met. It had been more than their gratefulness that he’d saved their son’s life. They’d genuinely wanted to aid him; they’d seen something in him that had made it worth their while.

“Yeah, I would,” he mumbled, unconvinced.

Once done with Lance’s wound, they went to bed, huddling together beneath the blankets against the chill of the night.

-

Meeting with Adam was a tedious affair: whenever Keith visited him, he’d be left feeling drained, not unlike a dishrag that’s been wrung dry. It was nevertheless a necessary evil: Keith loved him, certainly as much as he loved Lance and Shiro, it’s just that Adam had the perfect way to get under his skin. He was the only person who never took any shit from him, who talked back, and who didn’t hesitate to tell the bitterest truths.

Like Shiro, Adam lived on the other side of the bridge. The sole son of two cybernetic engineers, he was an astrophysics professor and researcher at Neo-Metropolis University and Shiro’s ex-boyfriend. Keith had met him not long after his relationship with Shiro had turned from teacher-student to brotherly affection. Shiro had wanted him to meet his boyfriend (whom he’d called his flatmate at first) and Keith had reluctantly agreed. Although his feelings for the other man had yet to solidify into full-blown love, he’d been annoyed that Shiro had a significant other. Adam’s reception to him had been lukewarm at best; Keith still remembered the disapproving twitch of his eyebrow when they’d been introduced. Despite this, Adam had been civil, polite, and coldly welcoming. The masquerade had been for Shiro’s sake, of course―Adam didn’t give a damn about a thirteen-year-old child with a juvie record. He’d clearly believed his boyfriend’s interest in Keith would waver and, to be honest, Keith had believed the same. In the end, he’d been frostily polite to Adam, also for Shiro’s sake.

The meeting had been painfully awkward for everybody involved except Shiro who sucked at reading the atmosphere. The next week, he’d once again dragged Keith to his flat so the three of them would have dinner together. Shiro had liked the thought of Keith and Adam being friends, therefore the two of them had pretended for him. A few months later, the pretense had no longer been that hard to maintain. One year later, Keith had carefully come to consider Adam a friend. It was him he considered an older brother, not Shiro on whom he was crushing hopelessly hard. He had started to visit on his own whenever he had leave to. Adam would sigh and feign annoyance at his presence on his porch, welcoming him in nonetheless and cooking food for him. He was nothing like Shiro: he wasn’t warm or friendly or good at white lies. If Keith visited at a bad time, he’d say so. If he were tired or in no mood to endure Keith’s bullshit, he’d make it known rapidly. Keith had mapped out Adam’s boundaries to know when he could push or when it was best to withdraw. Adam let him get away with a lot of stuff.

Until he no longer did. After Keith got kicked out of school and ran away from the detention centre, he kept visiting Adam who never shut him out, never told him to stop coming. Keith had meanwhile started living on the other side of the bridge, whoring himself out. Drugs were his escape. He had tried being careful at first, he honestly did: he took only a little, just to take the edge off, only to make things blurry enough to be tolerable. He lived on the streets, sleeping in dark alleys, stealing money when he couldn’t earn enough. He was always hungry and cold and tired and in pain. He’d visit Adam from time to time, if only to shower and eat a good meal. Adam obviously worried; Keith had been skin and bones, the lack of money and drug addiction ruining his appetite. Everything was fine until Adam started lecturing, until he started telling him to get his shit together. Keith hadn’t seen it at the time—he’d been too steeped into his own misery to see the agony he was putting the other man through. Adam had desperately wanted to help him, but he’d been young and untried and uncertain what to do. He’d been scared for Keith and he didn’t deal well with fear. He’d offered Keith to move in with him, to pay for his education, anything to get him off the streets. By then, Keith had turned into a full-blown drug addict; he was high nearly all the time and Adam’s offer had rankled with him. There’d been words exchanged, awful words Keith didn’t care to remember to this day. Adam had kicked him out. Had Keith not been stoned out of his mind, he’d have noticed the tears in the other man’s eyes and the hitch in his voice as he slammed the door in his face.

Truly alone now, Keith, sixteen years old and with little chance of seeing adulthood, had kept on doing everything Adam had hated: he’d kept whoring and drinking and doing drugs, sleeping on the streets and getting into fights and into trouble. He’d surely have died had he not met Lance―Lance and his family had helped him clean up his act. Despite being a family of drug dealers, they’d aided in his rehabilitation and painful detox. They’d taught him to trust a little, one meal and one smile at the time. He’d gotten back to his feet thanks to them. Once as healthy as he could get, Keith had gathered every ounce of his courage and went to apologize to Adam. He’d been twenty then, still too proud yet sufficiently wise to understand Adam had deserved better. He’d therefore gone to the older man’s flat, knocked at the door, sure he’d be thrown out on his ear again, only to have Adam hug him the second he saw him. Hell, hug was too weak a word―he’d held Keith so tight and so hard his ribs had hurt for a week afterwards. That wordless hug, that long peace-filled moment had been sufficient to tell him everything was forgiven. Adam had given him a long look, taking in his good complexion and clear eyes and the meat on his bones, and things had been right with the world. Of course, he still didn’t approve of Keith’s line of work; he didn’t like how he associated with drug dealers or how he’d wasted his potential, yet when he lectured, it was mostly out of habit. Keith kind of liked it anyway, kind of liked the feeling that someone he deeply respected took time out of his busy day to lecture him.

Things weren’t perfect between them. Keith could live with that.

The day following the mysterious earthquake that shook low town was pretty hectic: thousands had been made homeless and electricity wouldn’t be back for a while. The pipes that supplied drinking water had thankfully been fixed first thing the next morning. Since Keith couldn’t stand the sight of so much misery, he left early, knowing things would be better on the other side of the bridge.

Crossing the river was a privilege: although anyone from upper town could visit low town, the reverse wasn’t exactly true. Low towners such as Keith who had acquaintances were allowed to cross if they were on a guest list. Ordinary folk, unless they had proven business, weren’t allowed on the other side. It served as protection, the Galras who had come up with this scheme had said. It stopped the riffraff from annoying the hard-working ordinary populace and it offered control, the thing Earth’s overlords craved the most. In spite of the fact that he was on Adam’s guest list, Keith couldn’t travel everywhere he wanted to; certain places were off limits to him. Some skymetro stations were barred to him and he’d get arrested should he try to infringe. Whole neighbourhoods were also inaccessible to him. He had access to the stations between the first one at the head of the bridge and the one nearest Adam’s flat. If he had to go elsewhere, he’d need to get an invitation first. He couldn’t stop by Shiro’s workplace either; the police commissariat was situated inside the innermost circle of upper town where the ruling elite had elected to live and work a long time ago. The only reason he vaguely knew what it looked like was because of the news—journalists loved being seen interviewing the great people living there.

Of course, it had to rain, forcing him to take the skymetro. Like always, the wagons were full and people were crammed together, traveling in a way that couldn’t be safe. Keith was lucky to find himself a free seat beside an elderly alien engrossed in reading a book on their PDA. The inside of the wagon smelled of wet cloth and unwashed bodies, and Keith understood the disdain of the rich folks who could afford cars. Babies cried, teenagers listened to music loud enough to be heard even though they had headphones on, people talked on their phone or amongst themselves, creating a sort of buzzing din. Keith stared out the window at the landscape of the city zipping by, a spectacle that left him unmoved. From this new vantage point, he got a good look at the destruction the earthquake had wrecked: a whole block not far from the Fightdome had been completely flattened. It looked as though a giant had stepped on a dozen buildings, mercilessly crushing them. That whole section was plunged in darkness. This made him realise how damn lucky they’d been to escape more or less unscathed; hadn’t it been for Allura, the earthquake would have killed them when the policemen or the gang members hadn’t.

The ride across the bridge went smoothly―many of the commuters got off at the last station before the river, finally leaving some breathing room. Once across, it was not unlike entering a different world altogether. Upper town looked brighter despite the pelting rain: the streets were straight, perfectly cobbled, and the buildings were tall without being looming. Their façades that were mainly made of glass gave an airy, refined look to the place. Brick and stone weren’t in vogue here since people preferred smooth material like glass and stainless steel. It was all incredibly shiny, especially in the sunlight. There were parks where actual trees and other plants grew that were accessible to anybody wanting to take a stroll or walk their dog. There were houses alongside tenements, streets filled with all kinds of motorized vehicles, and shops with large bay windows (not placarded over, of course) that let customers see their wares. Anything could be bought, stuff that Keith couldn’t begin to guess the purpose of. The billboards were present but far more discreet: no loud colours or bright neon lights here. This part of the city was divided in sectors, thus everybody knew where they belonged and didn’t try to toe the line. There were also sectors that were actually fenced off. Taking a large place beside the river was Neo-Metropolis University, one of the most prestigious schools on Earth. Keith had heard that students from anywhere in the known galaxies applied there and that only a chosen few were allowed to attend. He’d never seen it, not even on the news, and what he knew of its functioning came from Adam. This was undoubtedly the university Pidge would have attended if her family still had the means to pay for the luxury that was higher education.

He heaved a sigh at the sight of the building―he used to be damn good at school, good enough that Adam had said he might have been able to attend university had he not dropped out. He couldn’t imagine himself there amongst thousands of other students; he hadn’t liked school, hadn’t seen the point of it knowing he had no connections to help him get a job after he was done. To be honest, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else than where he currently was. Call it fate or destiny, he was pretty sure that, education or not, parents or not, he’d still be right here doing the same thing.

It took about half an hour for him to reach his destination. By then, it was mostly students and young adults on the skymetro with him, which meant he didn’t stand out that much. He’d put his best, clean clothes on this morning, yet he couldn’t shake the persistent feeling that the stench of low town clung to him. The people coming in and out of the wagon seemed to know that he didn’t belong; they threw wary glances in his direction, like they were afraid he’d mug them. He wasn’t self-conscious, but he hated this, hated being noticed. Nobody talked to him, thankfully, and he kept his gaze firmly planted on the view outside the window. He wondered if they knew what he did for a living; he could recognize whores on the streets, so maybe it was true for others too. It didn’t really matter—that girl sitting a couple of seats in front of his was an escort wearing the university uniform, probably pretending to be the girlfriend of the young woman next to her. Her gaze crossed his and she looked away quickly, blushing. Aw, young and new to this, too.

He got off at the next station, happy to be out of the metro’s stuffy confines. Even the smells of upper town were different, far more subtle: nowhere did he smell garbage or piss or shit or sweat. There were flowers in pots inside the station, perfuming the air, making him sneeze. The marble floor was spotless and the tall walls gave an impression of airiness to the building. The commuters talked quietly amongst themselves. On one side, a small shop was selling coffees and pastries. Keith tried, he did try his best not to stop—he hated giving these rich folks his hard-earned money. He couldn’t let go of this opportunity, however, and in the end, he bought a sort of flaky, sugary pastry and a tall latté, the two items costing around the same amount he spent on weekly grocery shopping. He couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment, not when the taste of fine sugar filled his mouth. He distractedly remembered Lance saying that he _purred_ whenever he ate Hunk’s cookies, and he was quite sure that the sound coming from his throat was indeed a purr. He’d hate himself later: the sugar high would hit him then leave him exhausted with a throbbing headache. Hunk had once explained that commercial bakeries used a different type of sugar than the one he used, which was why the taste of cookies bought in stores was that addictive. Whatever this meant, Keith still preferred his friend’s cooking even though he also loved indulging in rich people pastries every time he visited this side of the bridge.

He was finished with the pastry before he stepped out of the station. The rain had relented a little, yet not enough to spare him the use of an umbrella. Like dozens of others on the sidewalk, he walked with his shoulders hunched against the cold raindrops and steady winds. At least the weather was shitty everywhere in the city, a small consolation prize. He nursed his warm coffee as he hurried towards Adam’s apartment building that he saw it in the distance, an insanely tall skyscraper of more than two hundred floors. At one time in the past, Adam had said that he wasn’t considered rich by these people’s standards, that he was kind of upper middleclass. Middleclass folk therefore often chose to live in those huge tenements in order to be closer to the city centre and their job, whilst richer folks preferred the houses available in the upper-class neighbourhoods. It beggared belief to Keith that there actually were people who had the means to afford a house, to afford living _on their own_ ; of all his acquaintances, only Lance’s uncle, Pedro, the head of their cartel, could buy one. He wasn’t sure Marco or Luis could do so; using drug money to acquire stuff was impossible anyway, hence they were stuck in apartments, some of them not quite sufficiently large to accommodate a family. Keith had been living with Lance for two or three years, and there were days when Panchito crashed at their flat that he felt like their living space was way too tiny for the three of them. He had no idea how Lance had survived living with his parents, his two brothers, and his two sisters all at the same time in a three-bedroom flat.

An android vaguely shaped to resemble a human stood at the main entrance of the building. Keith handed it his PDA and it scanned it quickly, no doubt checking his identity to make sure he was allowed in. Since he was on Adam’s guest list, the front door opened on its own, allowing him entrance. He took his PDA back and walked in. The air inside the small lobby felt warm against his chilled skin. He put his umbrella in the stand by the door amongst dozens of others, wincing at how shabby it looked beside the others made of sleek black fabric. The place looked gorgeous to his untrained eye, chic, even. Adam had once qualified it of shabby, but Keith saw none of it―what he saw was the polished floor, the gleaming steel, and the fresh coat of paint on the walls. He rode the elevator to the fifty-second floor while he finished sipping his latté. He could already feel the sugar seemingly thickening his blood, making his head hurt, and he hoped that Adam wouldn’t be in a mood to argue.

The doors slid open on a long, narrow corridor. There had to be around twenty apartments on each floor with a few penthouses at the top. The thick carpet muffled his footsteps as he reached Adam’s door. Standing there on the threshold, knocking, he had to wonder how often this same scene had been repeated throughout his life― hundreds of times, surely. There had been a time, prior to their falling out, when Keith had visited twice or thrice a week, Adam’s flat being the only solace against the cold and uncaring outside world. Despite the drug haze that had taken hold of his brain, he remembered vividly how he’d felt that time he’d been kicked him out: his heart had broken the second the door had been slammed into his face. He had been certain he had seen the last of the other man, that he’d die without ever having a chance to apologize.

Adam opened the door at the second knock, a scowl on his face. Keith raised an eyebrow at him.

“You usually stop by later in the afternoon,” Adam grumbled.

“I was up early today. Can I come in or do I have to come back another day?”

He was waved in uncaringly and he walked into the familiar warmth of the flat. This felt like coming home, like everything was going to be fine, like the rest of the world didn’t matter. He toed off his wet boots before being told to; he’d once kept them just to be a snot and Adam had had him scrub the floor on his knees―he could be petty whenever he wanted to be. This had been back at the time when they’d been testing each other’s boundaries, pushing each other to see where the other stood. Shiro, the third party who’d brought them together, had watched their little game with confused amusement―never in his life had he doubted his boyfriend and his protégé would eventually get along.

“Wow, that place’s a mess,” Keith commented the moment he stepped into the living room.

Adam was usually a pretty tidy person, so seeing the mess in the living room surprised him. There were pieces of paper strewn everywhere alongside pens and empty glasses and dirty plates. The holoscreen of the telly was on, muted. A blanket covered the couch, as though Adam had decided to sleep there. As soon as Keith spotted the empty tub of ice cream, he immediately understood: Adam had been sulking. Most likely, he’d invited Shiro over for the night and, after kicking him out like a stray dog, he’d wallowed in self-pity. See, despite having broken off their engagement five years ago, Adam and Shiro were still stupidly in love with each other. Adam, in all his wounded pride, kept his ex at arm’s length; nowadays, they were more friends with benefits than anything else. Shiro went along with the whole thing because it allowed him to spend time with Adam. He was too blind to this kind of things that he had absolutely no idea that, with the right word, they’d be together again. Of course, neither of them had admitted this to Keith; they both seemed to think he was too young to understand the situation. Still, he selfishly hoped Adam never worked up the courage to ask Shiro out again; if he did, Keith would never a chance with the other man.

“As if your place’s spotless.” Adam retorted in annoyance.

His own flat was actually kind of clean, thanks to Lance’s mother who dropped from time to time to scrub it from top to bottom. He kept that tidbit of information to himself. He grabbed a sheaf of paper off the couch to sit down and frowned while he skimmed over them. This appeared to have been printed from some kind of deep-web forum talking about conspiracies involving the Galras. One guy claimed he was from a different… timeline?

He had no time to read further that Adam was wrenching the papers out of his hand. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to go through other people’s stuff?”

“What are you doing with these? It’s unlike you to indulge into conspiracy theories.”

Adam scoffed. “I’m doing some research, that’s all. Don’t worry your little brain about this.”

“Wow, you really are cranky! What crawled into your coffee and died?”

Adam didn’t dignify this with a response. Instead, he hurried around the room, picking up scraps of paper and shuffling them into a more or less straight pile. Keith watched him work, a smidge of worry blossoming inside his chest; Adam was being weird. He looked pale and dishevelled, like he hadn’t been sleeping well. Somehow, Keith guessed this wasn’t only because Shiro had spent the night over. Should he ask? He doubted Adam would answer—he was a pretty closed person when he decided to be. Wait, had Shiro come over here last night following the incident with the mines? Bloody hell, that must be why Adam had worked himself up that much: Shiro had told him and Adam was pissed at the Galras all over again. The guy was certain that their rulers were up to mischief, that they were responsible for Shiro and Matt’s disappearance three years ago. Keith had never managed to make him say _why_ exactly he thought that, but he knew that Adam poking his nose where it didn’t belong would cause him trouble and nothing else.

“So, was Shiro here last night?” he asked innocently.

“Does it matter?”

“Maybe you’d be less cranky if you’d gotten a good dicking.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Hell, Keith, not everything can be resolved that way! I’m cranky because my boss the rector changed my course load _again_ , which means I’m now teaching four classes instead of three and I’ve had no time to prepare accordingly.”

“Adam, you could have ten classes to teach and you’d be ready.”

The look the other man sent him could only be described as pained. He grumbled then asked him if he wanted to eat something. Keith was weak to this, weak for home-cooked meals, thus he nodded eagerly. Adam’s cooking was too great to pass and a free meal was always welcomed; Keith had learned that only idiots refused free food offered on a platter.

He followed Adam into the kitchen, trying to guess what might have gotten him that worked up again. He hadn’t been the same since his break-up with Shiro―Adam had never been happy-go-lucky or bubbly, he didn’t smile often and his face was usually set in a marble, neutral expression, yet he’d been happier at that time; Keith himself had been able to see that. There hadn’t been that bitter twist to his lips either. He didn’t know what to do about this; he liked Adam, loved him a whole lot, he just didn’t know how to behave with him. The two of them were painfully awkward with each other, acting as though they’d known the other for ten minutes rather than years. Keith didn’t think it was because of Shiro—maybe it used to be because of him, but not anymore. Adam had always known of his feelings for the other man, most likely before he himself did. It had never been a competition between them: there had simply been no way Keith could compete after seeing the utter love and devotion Shiro had for his boyfriend. He’d been a tiny bit jealous at first until he’d resigned himself to be content with what he had. He hadn’t managed to be happy when he’d learned that they were breaking off their engagement—he’d felt like a child must feel when his parents divorced.

He supposed that the current problem stemmed from the fact that the breakup hadn’t been clean: Shiro and Adam still clung to each other desperately, neither willing to let go. Only Adam’s pride kept them apart; Shiro obviously wanted them to be back together, yet Adam refused for some reason Keith didn’t understand. It amused him and broke his heart in equal measure; it hurt to see these two idiots behaving this way as much as it hurt knowing this was proof Shiro would never be his. Keith pined and a part of himself hoped they would get back together so it could kill that stupid yearning.

He sat on one of the stools by the island, watching his host work. Adam was kind of handsome in a distant way, not unlike a painting made to be admired from afar. His light brown hair and eyes were a nice contrast to his dark skin, and there were good muscles on his frame. He was tall, almost as tall as Shiro, though with none of his warmth. Keith had discovered a long time ago that it wasn’t quite Shiro’s physique that got him hot under the collar, it was his _kindness._ Adam had none of that—well no, that was a lie. Adam was kind, he just didn’t radiate warmth; he was kind in a cold, indifferent way. Keith had learned to decipher the other man’s tiny gestures of affection over the years; those were the proofs that Adam cared, proofs that only a trained eye could spot. To everybody else, he appeared standoffish, unfeeling, even arrogant. It was because they hadn’t seen him with Keith, hadn’t seen the wet sheen to his eyes whenever Keith had come to him drunk and drugged and hurt, hadn’t seen the tender way he tended to his wounds or gave him food or allowed him to sleep in his bed. They hadn’t witnessed the quasi-manic way with which he had taken care of Shiro either, making sure he ate well and slept long enough and took every damn pill and swallowed every bloody mouthful of his meds. Adam cared, he simply sucked at showing it.

“Takashi told me you saved his sorry hide last night.”

Adam was also the only person Keith knew who called Shiro by his given name―everybody called him _Shiro_ , even his boss. Keith had once tried calling him Takashi too, and the weirded-out expression on his friend’s face had been sufficient to dissuade him from trying again; he was Shiro to everybody who mattered to him, and Mr. Shirogane to everybody else. 

“Ah, so he did _come_ last night.” Keith said, giving a nasty little twist to the word _come_. As expected, Adam threw him an annoyed look over his shoulder. “What? Don’t tell me you threw him out without lending a helping hand to his hefty problem?”

“Urgh, Keith, you’re impossible! I wonder why I bother with you!”

“That’s a long list. Want me to read it to you?”

“Never mind, you horrible boy.”

“I’m _not_ a boy, Adam.”

“You weren’t a girl last I looked.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Lance is a much better big brother than you; at least he doesn’t bully me. But yes, to answer your question, I kind of helped Shiro out of a tough situation yesterday.”

Adam said nothing while he worked, cutting some fresh-looking vegetables and stirring them into a pot. Keith’s mouth watered at the smells rising from the oven―a mere glance at fresh food was enough to make his stomach cramp in hunger. This was completely different from the goo and second-hand stuff they got on the other side of the bridge; it was difficult to believe an apple could taste differently depending on where it was bought. At one time in the past, he had brought home a stew Adam had made and Lance’s eyes had watered at the first mouthful.

“He’s always putting himself through tough situations…” Adam grumbled. “He somehow forgot to mention what you were doing there, though. He said you were taking a stroll, which I doubt.”

“I was at the Fightdome. Someone was laying claim on a part of Marco’s turf.”

This surprised Adam―he turned towards Keith, eyebrows raised. “What? I heard on the news that the building collapsed.”

“I was lucky—the bleachers protected us from the collapsing wall.”

Adam groaned. “Urgh, you’re going to give me white hair before my age! Did you at least win your fight?”

“I won one of them for sure—I killed the guy. I don’t know about the other; the earthquake struck in the middle of our fight and I haven’t heard about him this morning. Lance’s going to ask around.”

Adam returned his attention to the food, a new tension to his shoulders. He knew everything about Keith’s business, the legal and illegal parts of it. Unlike Shiro, it was safe to tell him the truth, not because he wasn’t a policeman, but because he _understood_. He didn’t like the situation or approved of it, yet he understood why Keith behaved that way. Although he had never set foot on the other side of the bridge despite Keith’s repeated invitations, he grasped the way life was lived over there. It was both reassuring and terrifying.

When a bowl of hot soup was placed in front of him, Keith quickly forgot about everything else: he dug in with gusto, not trying to hide his satisfied groan. Savours exploded on his tongue, obliterating any other thoughts―he didn’t even mind Adam’s satisfied smirk.

“So, has there been any development between you and metro-guy?” he asked between two spoonfuls.

“Some.”

Metro-guy was a guy Adam had met on the skymetro who had supposedly been making eyes at him. Keith teased him about not believing the story even though he was pretty sure it was true. First of all, Adam wasn’t a liar, and second, he was a good-looking bloke, so it wouldn’t be that surprising that people would be interested in him. What was surprising, however, was that he seemed to enjoy the attention of that one guy in particular; he’d talked about him a few times, enough for Keith to detect some interest. This made him feel weird, as if he’d caught Adam about to cheat on Shiro. It was stupid; the two idiots hadn’t been together for five years and it was damn time they both moved on. Still, to him, it had always been Adam and Shiro, Shiro and Adam, never Adam and Metro-guy.

And especially never Shiro and Keith.

He shook his head.

“Really? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“He invited me for a drink. I said I’d think about it.”

“What’s there to think about? Go for it if you want to. I keep telling you it’s time you move on from Shiro. Stop torturing the guy and just find yourself someone else, that’s the only way he’ll truly believe it’s over between the two of you.”

The problem was that Adam didn’t seem to want things to be over with Shiro; no matter what he said, he still called him often, still spent a lot of time with him, still slept with him. He acted like a dedicated boyfriend by doing what was expected of him: keeping Shiro’s stomach full and his balls empty. Keith didn’t know what to think of the situation―his love for these men made him want them to be happy, while his love for Shiro in particular made him want them to be truly through in order to have a chance. It was all very confusing.

“Unless you don’t want Shiro to think it’s truly over between the two of you,” Keith said carefully.

Adam had a good poker face—Keith read annoyance on his features simply because he’d known him for years.

“Takashi is… useful,” he declared with finality. “I don’t want to be too hasty in ditching him.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “And people call me cold-hearted.”

They finished their meal in companionable silence. Keith took seconds without hesitation and he clearly saw the gleam of approval in Adam’s eyes; Adam always told him to eat more, that he was too scrawny. It was probably remnants of his fear that Keith would die of hunger on the streets. He’d put on weight since then, a good twenty pounds, yet Adam talked as if he wouldn’t be satisfied until he reached two hundred rather than his supposedly paltry one-and-thirty. At five-foot six, there was no way he could be/get bigger. Hell, no matter how hard he trained, he couldn’t even gain some muscle mass―he still looked like a scrawny, underweight child when standing beside Shiro.

“I think your review’s coming soon, right? Don’t forget to pay your licence and get yourself checked,” Adam said.

“Yes, mom.”

Keith hid his smile behind his last mouthful of soup. Adam, who claimed to loathe children, really did enjoy treating him like one; there were days he wondered whether the older man was like a brother or like a mother to him.

“Do you have the day off?” Adam asked.

“Yeah, I’m off for the next couple of days. I didn’t know if I’d get beaten up at the Fightdome and I didn’t want to take any chance. I declined invitations from clients. I hate doing that, though.” Keith got up and picked up their dirty dishes, just so Adam wouldn’t nag at him to do so. “It’s mostly my regulars so they understand.”

“Were you expecting to get beaten up?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “No, but better safe than sorry; there are clients who don’t like bruised faces.”

“Be thankful you didn’t know these idiots back when you were a kid, then.”

Back when he was a kid and always got into fights, right. Keith snorted―okay, he’d been an ass of a kid, so what? It wasn’t his fault the other children always picked on him; he used to be the smallest around, making him an easy prey. They often got what they deserved, however: he had never been one to back down from a fight, not even when younger. Still, it had nevertheless resulted in him getting beaten up all the time. 

“They’re not idiots,” he mumbled, feeling a distant, professional need to defend those who paid his salary. “There’s nothing wrong with paying for sex.”

“I never said it was wrong, it’s just that you should get yourself a better job.”

“Why? It’s an easy job. I’ve got an established clientele. I like sucking dicks and getting fucked, it doesn’t even feel like work most of the time.”

“Wow, very classy, Keith.”

“Maybe _you_ should try it sometimes, Adam; I bet my clients are less annoying than those colleagues you always complain about.”

Adam opened his mouth to retort before closing it with a snap. Keith considered this a small victory—rare were the times he won an argument. Instead, Adam merely pulled a face, grabbed himself a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, and went to sit in the living room. Keith understood what this meant: he had to clean up. This was ritualistic between them: Adam cooked and Keith fixed the mess afterwards. There was a sort of domesticity to this that pleased him. While he washed the dishes, he pondered on how easy it was to pretend to lead an ordinary life for a few hours. Inside these four walls, it hardly mattered that he’d nearly died crushed beneath the Fightdome or that he had no idea whether Pidge’s plan had worked out or not; he could put everything on hold for a brief moment. He supposed this was how Lance felt whenever he visited his parents; he always came back relaxed and more focused, as if being pampered helped ground him. This was the same for Keith: whenever he felt his life would finally overwhelm him, he’d invite himself over at Adam’s and bask into that normalcy that he’d denied himself years ago. Was this what his life would have looked like had he taken on the offer of living here and going back to school? Would a day such as today be the norm? He didn’t know, and a part of himself was glad he’d never have to find out; living on the streets wasn’t what had messed him up, he’d been messed up long before that. A 9-to-5 job wasn’t for him―he doubted he could ever thrive in what was considered a normal environment.

His thoughts were cut short when he heard a crash. Adrenaline spiked in his body and he rushed to the living room, tugging his knife out of its sheath, sure he was going to see an intruder about to murder Adam. What he saw wasn’t quite better: the bottle of sparkling water had fallen to the floor, crashing on impact on the hard, polished wood. Adam stood there, white as milk, eyes fixed on the holoscreen of the telly. Keith had to make an effort to calm himself. His heart hammered violently inside his chest and it took a couple of seconds until the ringing in his ears diminished enough to allow him to hear properly. He focused his attention on the telly, trying to understand what had shaken the other man to the point that he stood stock-still, gaping not unlike a fish out of water.

The news channel anchorman was talking about a happy event because there was a smile on his face. Keith shook his head, chasing the last remnants of dread, and the words made sense at last:

“ _In what has been called one of the greatest trials of the decade, Counsellor Peter Griffin has once again demonstrated his knowledge of the intergalactic law system. For the past six months, he has been defending one of the Galra Empire’s best, leader of the CTAC and right-hand man of Emperor Zarkon, Commander Sendak. Commander Sendak had been accused by the Intergalactic Allied Planets Congress of mass murder and voluntary slaughter on planet Harlan. Upon hearing those preposterous accusations, Counsellor Peter Griffin decided to defend him. A trial that has proved to be long and painful has finally reached its conclusion: Neo-Metropolis Channel 5 News is proud to announce to all our viewers that the commander of the CTAC has been absolved of all accusations of wrongdoings. Furthermore, the leader of the IAPC will publicly apologize for the grievous mistake. It is most probable that reparations will be paid to the commander for wrongful imprisonment and the tarnishing of his reputation.  Counsellor Griffin assures us that he will have the commander back on Earth and back to his original posting in a week. Emperor Zarkon will also publicly address his empire as soon as his right-hand man is back at his side. In a special program set to air today at seven hundred hours, our public liaison and court specialist will interview Counsellor Griffin, who will explain to us in more details the specifics of the trial. He—_ “

Keith followed the news closely enough to know what this was about: he vaguely remembered the outrage amongst the Galra population when Commander Sendak had been arrested perhaps half a year ago. Emperor Zarkon had argued loudly against the accusations, saying they were baseless. The Galra Empire was part of the Intergalactic Allied Planets Congress, however, and it was they who ultimately held the power over this. The IAPC was, as the name suggested, a coalition of allied planets that had been put together in order to be protected against larger threats. Every new planet that joined in had to swear fealty to the leaders of the coalition, and one of them happened to be Emperor Zarkon. He had voted against the imprisonment of his right-hand man, but had ultimately been outvoted by the rest of the members. From that moment on, tensions had run high, so much that the emperor had appointed Prince Lotor to take his seat on the board since he was better liked. The prince had yet to issue a statement about his opinion on the matter of Sendak, and this omission had led to wild speculations: people whispered that he was in favour of the commander being tried. Keith himself had very little opinion on the matter; he had no idea of what had truly happened on Harlan and what he knew of Sendak came from Shiro and Matt, both of whom disliked him vehemently. Sendak was allegedly nothing more than a glorified bully who treated his subordinates like shit and liked to make life hell for the policemen of the other departments. Being the commander of the CTAC, he apparently thought it beneath himself to work on Earth—his ultimate goal was to be in command of one of the colonizing forces that the emperor sent out to conquer new planets. Rumours had it that the sole reason he was still here was because Emperor Zarkon didn’t trust the rest of his people to keep Earth pacified. From what Shiro had told him, Keith had no doubt that Sendak might have played too rough on Harlan. Whether he had actually committed genocide or whatever else he was accused of, he had no idea.

What he didn’t understand was Adam’s reaction―sure, it sucked that such a guy got out of trouble easily, though it was to be expected considering he’d had the best lawyer on Earth to defend him. Adam looked flabbergasted more than surprised, horrified, even. Keith could only recall two occasions he’d seen him look close to fainting: when he’d kicked him out of his house and when they’d learned that Shiro was missing. For one reason or another, Sendak walking free ranged on the same level as these two incidents.

“What’s wrong?” Keith asked.

Adam said nothing. He shook his head and sat heavily on the couch. He didn’t even make a move to clean up the mess on the floor. Transparent liquid spread amidst shattered shards of glass in a large puddle. Not liking this situation, Keith knelt on the ground to pick up the larger pieces of broken glass. Adam still kept quiet, eyes riveted on the holoscreen, therefore Keith fetched a towel from the kitchen to mop the mess up. As soon as he returned to the living room, he saw that Adam was texting, and one glance at the screen of his PDA told him he was texting Shiro. So, whatever this was concerned the policeman. A thought niggled at the back of his mind―it appeared to him that Adam knew a lot more than he was letting on. Out of some big brotherly duty or misplaced concern for his sensibilities, he kept it from him. It annoyed him that both Shiro and Adam treated him like he was still twelve rather than twenty-two; if anything, he was pretty sure he’d seen more horrors in his lifetime than any of these two would.

“Adam,” Keith said, poking him on the shoulder as he sat beside him on the couch. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing! You’re white like a sheet! What the hell’s happening?!”

For a second, Keith was sure Adam would keep his mouth shut: his jaw clenched in that way that meant he was going to be stubborn. Then, he heaved a sigh, and his broad shoulders sagged.

“No, really, Keith, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about this.”

“This has to do with Shiro’s disappearance, doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Oh, Adam was good—Keith almost believed him. A tiny part of himself wanted to believe him, but he knew better; he’d been around him long enough to discover the telltale signs of his lies. Whenever it happened, he’d adjust his glasses minutely, pushing them up further his nose. It was a gesture so natural, so casual, that it had taken him a long time to associate it with a lie. Now that he saw it, however, it was glaringly obvious. He wished this angered him. Instead, hurt spread in his chest, hurt that Adam didn’t trust him with the truth, hurt that Adam would _lie_ to him in the first place; he thought they were past that.

He didn’t push. He observed the other man for a moment—his bowed head, his pale face, the defeated slump of his shoulders—and he took pity. He kept quiet, leaning against him, offering a silent show of support. Unlike Shiro, Adam wasn’t a tactile person, yet he didn’t seem to mind the touch. They remained like this for a long time as the news shifted to the more mundane: drug arrests and the upcoming weather and new laws and long, long minutes of advertisements.

“Can you at least tell me whether you or Shiro are in trouble?”

“No, we’re not in trouble, kid. It’s fine.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t know whether he believed this or not. He was pretty sure he didn’t, although he had no way of knowing for certain; if neither Adam or Shiro told him the truth, who else could he ask? He was out of his depth in this situation. Maybe he could ask Matt, though he doubted the guy would answer his questions. Shiro had most likely told him to keep his mouth shut or Matt, of his own volition, wouldn’t volunteer any information; he hadn’t said anything to Pidge either, all things considered. Keith had the sense that he’d never get to the bottom of this, that he’d never know what had happened to his friend during his two-year disappearance. The only thing that was for certain was that Shiro had been grievously hurt: he’d lost his right arm to this and had gained numerous scars, one of those covering the bridge of his nose, giving him a fierce look that didn’t fit his personality. Keith hated thinking about this—it hurt somewhere deep inside of him that someone, or many someones, had been cruel to the point of making the kindest man suffer. Who in their right mind could do such a thing? He liked to think he was hard, that he was kind of badass, he’d simply never be able to hurt someone for the fun of it, especially not an innocent.

He felt Adam gradually relax. They rested against each other for a while longer, Keith basking in the familiar presence of the man he considered an older brother. It was peaceful in this apartment that was like home. When Adam and Shiro had broken up, Keith had feared that Adam would move. He thankfully hadn’t, saying the flat suited him even without Shiro in it. Keith had no idea how many hundreds of hours he’d spent here: in sickness or in health, he’d visit just to laze on the couch or eat one of Adam’s delicious meals. Adam would nurse him back to health or tend to his minor wounds after he’d gotten into a fight. He’d give him a bucket every time he puked following a night of heavy drinking. He’d allow him usage of his shower and let him borrow clothes so he could sleep more comfortably. Adam, like Lance’s mother when he’d gone through detox, had seen him at his lowest. Neither had turned from him. Both felt like home.

He leaned his cheek against Adam’s shoulder, hoping it provided the other man the same comfort it gave him. He was tired after what had happened last night; he’d taken a good dose of painkillers this morning and their effect was starting to wear out already. His body ached everywhere: his chest, arms, and legs were covered in bruises—Pidge’s stupid dress had provided absolutely no padding. For one stupid reason or another, he remembered the time he used to be a junkie, how all the drugs combined inside his blood had made it impossible for him to feel banal things such as pain. He’d snort or swallow or inject himself with any kind of crap he found, adding a good dose of alcohol to the mix for good measure. There were days he wondered how he hadn’t died; if not from overdose or alcohol poisoning, from an infection picked up from a used syringe. He’d been incredibly lucky.

“I should go,” he said after a while. “You have some class you need to prepare or something.”

Adam made a noncommittal sound at the back of his throat, sounding almost as reluctant as him―it was rare for him to be this clingy.

Keith patted his knee and got up. “Call Shiro, won’t you? You look like you need him.”

“Urgh, Keith, not everything can be fixed by getting fu—“

“I meant you need him to hug you, moron! You wouldn’t be clinging to me this much otherwise.”

The twist to Adam’s lips resembled a pout. “I’m not clinging to you, you’re clinging to me like you always do.”

“No, you’re clinging to me.”

“Why would I cling to your scrawny ass anyway?”

Keith snorted. “Yeah, why cling to my scrawny ass when you could be clinging to Shiro’s hot, muscled body, right? Does Metro-guy have that much beef too?”

“Not as much as Takashi, actually, he’s kind of… plump. But Takashi isn’t really a reference.”

Keith chuckled. “I know, right? Anyway, I’m going. Do as I said and call Shiro.”

“Whatever.” Adam got up and looked at him, all levity gone. “Keith, I was serious when I said you shouldn’t worry too much. It’s nothing Takashi and I cannot handle.”

“Saying that only proves that you’re in some kind of trouble. I won’t ask because you obviously won’t spill the beans. Just… I don’t know, be careful, ‘kay? I’d hate to hear you’ve been thrown into jail or killed because you’ve been snooping where you shouldn’t.”

Adam offered him a tired smile. “Of course, kid. And you be careful too; you’ve a knack for getting into trouble yourself.”

“There’s little I can’t handle. Right, see you?”

“See you, kid.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! Here is chapter 12! Let me welcome my new proofreader, zonerobotnik! 
> 
> Enjoy this new chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -None

Keith’s plan to nap was dashed when he opened the front door of the flat and heard Panchito’s and Pidge’s voices. He groaned in annoyance—judging from the sounds, they were playing some stupid video games in the living room. He’d wanted to be alone for a few hours, just rest his aching head on his pillow and sleep. The trip from Adam’s flat had tired him out. The painkillers had long since been flushed from his body, leaving him pained. Adding insult to injury, he was soaked through—a sharp gust of wind had torn his umbrella out of his hand and under the wheels of a passing car. So he had made the journey back home as wet as a cat, shivering, his clothes drying on his back, only to get wet anew as he walked back to his flat. His boots had squelched on the pavement. Even his damn underwear was soaked! So he’d wanted nothing more than to just change out of his ruined garments into his pajamas and sleep until the chill left his bones.

“Lance!” he barked, standing on the threshold, dripping on the welcome mat. “Bring me a towel!”

Their front door lead into a tiny, short corridor, which meant that a wall blocked his view of the living room. Although he couldn’t see the others, he distinctly heard their collective gasps of surprise at his voice. Apparently, they’d been so engrossed in their game that they hadn’t heard the sound of the door closing. Lance hurried to do his bidding, bringing him a towel.

“I’ve got good news!” Lance exclaimed while Keith wiped his face. “We got the plant! We can start working on the RAM tomorrow if we want to!”

“Is that so? That’s great, Lance. Njàll and Minoru backed down then?”

“Yep! Minoru’s enforcer actually died of his wounds this morning—he got crushed when the Fightdome fell.”

“Good riddance.”

The venom in Keith’s voice surprised Lance. At the questioning look, he just shook his head—Keith didn’t want to talk about what had happened with the enforcer. Lance knew some of it—he’d been there when Keith returned, he’d just never been told who’d done it. To this day, Keith still wasn’t certain why he kept the whole story to himself. At the moment, it had seemed like the wise thing to do—Lance had been panicking so much, he’d been so furious that Keith hadn’t wanted him to be stupid and go after the bastard and get himself killed. They’d never talked about this afterwards and Keith intended to continue that way.

“Anyway, it’s good news for the plant,” Keith said honestly. “Pidge and Hunk are ready to start work tomorrow?”

“They want to look at the place first and they’ll tell me for sure afterward.” Lance grinned widely. “Isn’t that great?! Same time next year, we could be rich men!”

Keith couldn’t not smile back. Yeah, that was great, he had to admit as much. If Pidge’s plan worked out as intended, they could actually be quite rich next year, and even more the year after. He didn’t let it go to his head for more than a few seconds—he knew things never went as smoothly as one hoped. He didn’t say so to Lance; it was nice seeing him so happy, so energized about this project. Although he’d never said so out loud, this was a mean for him to distance himself from his uncle who ran the Cuban cartel. Uncle Pedro was a dangerous man to everybody, even to his family. If he learned of Lance’s project before they were ready, he could seize the whole operation for himself. Lance had no real power inside the cartel; he was just another lieutenant working under his uncle, just like Marco and Luis. The small parcels of turf he owned were more leased to him than outright his. What he was doing was dangerous but, if everything went according to plan, he could free himself mostly painlessly from his uncle. Keith hoped this worked, for his friend’s sake.

Lance went back to his video game. When he crossed the living room, Pidge, Hunk, and Panchito greeted Keith distractedly, all of them too focused on what was happening on the screen. Hunk told him he’d brought cake and that was enough to lift Keith’s spirit a little. His bedroom felt chilly as he took off his wet clothes. Through the thin walls, he heard the others groan collectively because of the game. Nope, sleep was definitely impossible while they were all there having fun. Shivering, he put on a dry shirt and dry underwear before sitting on his bed with his laptop. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well work. With his class-three prostitution licence came a licence to post all kind of payable content on the IG. On the city’s directory, he had a personal page on which he posted pictures and videos accessible to members who paid for the right to watch them. Sometimes, when the fancy took him, he went live, chatting with the members of his page and camming with them when they paid for it. It wasn’t that lucrative to be honest. His followership wasn’t enormous and constituted mostly of clients who already paid for his service outside the virtual world. The money he earned that way was more pocket money, the kind he kept for a rainy day.

Except he couldn’t work with that noise coming from the living room. He scowled at the wall—there was nothing sexy with the shouts and squeals that came from his friends. Keith wasn’t a professional porn star, he just had some standards he wanted to keep. Nobody would pay to watch him if they heard background noises reminiscent of some animal being murdered next door. Instead of using the camera for the moment, he contented himself with answering a few comments he’d received on his pictures. One that seemed particularly popular was the picture of him licking a cucumber—he hadn’t even known what a cucumber was when he’d received the request and he’d had to go on to upper town to get one. He didn’t understand why the guys liked it—maybe it was because his tongue piercing was so visible? Whatever, people had weird kinks. The stupid photo had earned him quite a few bucks so who was he to complain?

He was about to send his answer to one comment when the holoscreen went dark. What the hell? He slapped the computer. Nothing happened. He tried rebooting it. Nothing happened again. It was plugged in the wall so the power wasn’t the problem. Damn it, he really didn’t want to have to waste money on a new laptop! It was bloody 3250, how could computers crash like that for no reason whatsoever? With a groan, Keith fell on his back on the bed, glaring up at the yellowed ceiling. He could use his PDA until he got a new laptop—it just wasn’t as practical, especially not when he had to type. He wasn’t a texting expert like Lance and the camera on the PDA wasn’t as good as the one on his laptop. He didn’t want his videos or his pictures to be blurry. This was ridiculous—he was a whore who made minimal money with his videos yet he still wanted them to be of good quality. He really should up his price.

Yes, he was a whore _and_ a damn idiot to boot. There were two geeks sitting on his couch, in his living room, just next door. Surely they’d fix his computer free of charge, right? So he picked it up, unplugged the power cord, and went to sit on the couch just between Hunk and Panchito. There was a common yell of outrage when he passed in front of the telly, blocking their view for half a second.

“I need—“ he began.

“Why are you only wearing underwear and a shirt, Keith?” Pidge asked, her eyes still riveted on the holoscreen in front of her.

“I was about to take some pictures and maybe film a video, but my laptop died.”

Hunk’s and Panchito’s eyes went wide at this. An explosion resounded in the game due to their distraction, making Lance whine loudly. Pidge snorted at this. Keith cleared his throat before shrugging.

“Here, give me your laptop,” Pidge said.

She exchanged the laptop for her controller and then got up to work on the kitchen table. She walked around the flat as if she owned it, Keith noticed. If she were disconcerted by the meanness of the place, it didn’t show in her behaviour. She acted like she’d spent all of her life in a tiny, crammed apartment with peeling paint and leaky faucets. For some reason, it made Keith respect her to more for it. Usually, folks who crossed the bridge for whatever reason cringed at the way the low towners lived. Pidge didn’t give a fig. Either she truly was unflappable or she was so focused on her goal that nothing else mattered. Either way, Keith only admired her.

“Panchito, you’re supposed to look at the screen, not at Keith!” Lance exclaimed, exasperated. “My gun got stolen from me because you weren’t watching my back!”

Panchito spluttered as he tried to drag his eyes from Keith’s naked legs to the screen. Keith pretended to be too focused on the game to notice any of this. Panchito and he had a sort of history that made it way too easy for him to tease the poor man. Panchito had been one of his very first clients when Keith had started in the business of prostitution, when he’d been nothing more than a class-five whore giving blowjobs behind dumpsters. It was thanks to him that he’d met Lance. When Keith had been promoted to class-three, his tariff had been upped, making it difficult for Panchito to afford his services. Keith liked the guy though, liked his awkwardness and his big heart, so he didn’t mind giving him a discount. He could have slept with him for free, except this was for Lance only. Ever since they’d met, Panchito had been enchanted by Keith. It was far from being love, the feeling probably closer to worship. If Keith had to hazard a guess, he’d say it was this way because he’d saved Panchito’s life once and the guy had never forgotten it. He liked girls—he’d even had a few girlfriends over the past few years, yet he still liked Keith best. When he’d been more or less forced to get clean, Keith had only had to make eyes at Panchito for him to slip him some pills while Lance’s mother’s back was turned. She’d started forbidding them to be alone together in a room. It had probably been for the best—without her intervention, he’d still be a junkie. Torturing him was too easy, really—Keith merely had to _look_ at him for Panchito to get all flustered. He pressed his thigh against Panchito’s and the guy jumped on the couch as if he’d been burned.

On the other side of him, Hunk looked slightly ill-at-ease too. Even if he’d never said anything, he did look once in a while, like he had last night when Keith had put on the dress. Hunk was like a puppy so he refrained from teasing him too much. One guy had once called him a bitch for being such a tease, and Keith had to admit this was true. He enjoyed, on some level, being good-looking. He enjoyed and hated the attention that came with it. It hardly made any sense to him that he’d wear tight pants so people looked at his butt while actively disliking being in the spotlight.

Being good-looking had some good advantages, and Keith shamelessly used it to win the game. He distracted Panchito easily, killing his avatar. A mere mention of being hungry made Hunk forget he needed to focus on the game, giving Keith time to off his avatar. Lance was another matter entirely—Lance knew him and his tricks. He was also excellent at those war-like games he enjoyed so much. When playing, he demonstrated a good, analytic mind and an ability for patience he sometimes lacked in the real world. He wasn’t easily distracted either and he sat too far for Keith to touch. He resorted in beating his friend fair and square. Instead, he got beaten fair and square, which prompted a victorious shout from Lance and a huff of disgust from Keith—he hated these stupid video games.

He skipped the next turn, bored already with this. Instead of watching, he went to the kitchen to get himself a drink and to keep an eye on Pidge. She sat at the table with his laptop in front of her. She’d eviscerated it—wires and screws and pieces of plastic and other stuff sprawled everywhere. She fiddled at some part with a tiny screwdriver, tongue poking out from between her lips in concentration.

“It’s fried,” was all the explanation she was willing to give.

“Uh, okay? You can fix it?”

“Sure, easily. It’s a known problem with this brand. It’ll be up and running in a jiffy.”

“Thanks, Pidge.”

She grinned at him, pleased that he’d thanked her. What, did she think he was some sort of animal who couldn’t be grateful? What had Matt been telling her about him? This reminded him of what had happened with Adam that morning. He debated mentioning Commander Sendak to her—maybe she knew something or maybe she didn’t know. One way or the other, he had no way of knowing if she’d share her information. Or if she’d _want_ to share. Most likely, if Matt were like Shiro, he had never told her anything. He’d want to protect his younger sibling at all costs. Stupid big brothers didn’t know how angering it was to be kept in the dark.

“So, did your mom give you an earful because you were out late?”

Pidge’s hand faltered on the screwdriver. “Kinda.”

She didn’t have to elaborate—her mother had nearly lost her husband and her son, she didn’t want to risk losing her daughter too. No doubt Mrs. Holt now clung desperately to Pidge, afraid that she would just disappear too. Keith was pretty sure that were he in that woman’s position, he’d change the locks on his house’s doors to be sure his kid didn’t leave without permission.

“Matt covered for me though,” she continued. “He said I was with him the whole time. Mom doesn’t believe him and neither does dad. They don’t know what I’m up to and it annoys them. Mom says I should be in university right now—as if we have the money to pay for that.”

“And will you go to university once you’re rich?”

“Maybe. I’d like to be a creative engineer or an astrophysicist like my mom. Or maybe a programmer. Perhaps I’d do my degree in engineering and my master in physics? Who knows. What about you?”

The question surprised Keith. He poured himself a glass of water, drank, and thought about his answer. “No, I don’t think I’d go to university. I never even finished high school. I’m twenty-two, I’m too old for that.”

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

“A pilot.”

Pidge’s eyebrows climbed up, disappearing beneath her fringe of reddish-brown hair. She set her tool down to look at him squarely. “Really?”

“What, you thought I wanted to be a whore when I was five?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course not, idiot! It’s just, you didn’t even hesitate.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “That’s what I wanted to be, that’s all. I had the grades to apply for the flight school’s entrance exam. I just dropped out at fourteen and I needed to be sixteen to apply. When I turned sixteen, well, let’s just say they don’t look kindly on dropouts. I would have failed the drug tests anyway.”

“So, what will you do once you’re rich?”

“Meh, I don’t know? Retire, maybe. Go along with whatever Lance does.”

Pidge looked at him over the rim of her glasses, not impressed, before returning to her work. Somehow, he felt as if he’d failed her test without being sure what the test had been in the first place. What had she been expecting? That he’d return to being an exemplary citizen once he was rich? This type of life wasn’t for him. He didn’t like thinking much of the future anyway so he had no idea what he’d do once he got rich. If he did. If he lived long enough to see that day.

“Lance said Hunk and you are going to check out the plant soon?”

“Yeah, tomorrow, most likely. There’s some paperwork to be done so the plant’s ownership is transferred to Lance. Shouldn’t take too long. We need to assess what’s there and, once we do, we’ll be able to establish a more precise timeline. Being optimistic, I’d say we could start the production of the RAM in a couple of months. By the way, it’s a lame name for the drug, we have to find a cooler one—like Buster and Quick, it’s cool.”

“Right, I’ll leave the naming to you and Hunk—it’s your drug after all. Ask for Lance’s input, he probably has three dozen ideas already lined up.” A thought occurred to him. “Oh, do you know if Shiro got into trouble for what happened at the Fightdome?”

“I don’t know much. Matt told me my father gave them quite the verbal beating, and my father’s boss is asking questions too. Apparently, every policeman on the scene got killed. It’s like fifteen dead cops in one shot. Nobody knows what happened. The bodies of gang members who attacked them had already been moved by the time investigators were sent in this morning.”

“Hm. It’s true that I don’t recall ever seeing any of those guys before.”

“I’ve  got the sense something big happened and we just don’t know it. I think it’s got to do with what we found underground.”

“What do you mean?” Keith asked, puzzled.

“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling I have…” Pidge trailed off, eyes hazy as if she were trying to remember. She shook her head. “Anyway. Let’s not be like Lance and Hunk—this has got nothing to do with us. I don’t want to get invested in that.”

“Yeah, Lance’s been feeling shitty because of that since yesterday. He feels sorry for those Alteans stuck down there. I can’t seem to make him understand that there’s nothing we can do for them.”

“Hunk’s the same. He keeps asking me to ask Matt if the police can help. I think he’s got a crush on that Shay gal.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “And Lance’s got a crush on Allura. I fear we’re the only sane ones here, Pidge.”

She laughed. “That’s what I think too. Anyway, your computer should be up and running once I’m done with it. You’ll be able to _work_ afterward.”

“You can visit my blog if you wish. The videos might be helpful for your future sex-doll factory, eh?”

“And is business good?”

“Business is very good.”

-

Keith could tell Panchito had something to ask him. Panchito, for all his faults, knew to be discreet. He didn’t ask whatever was on his mind while the others were around to hear. Instead, he kept fidgeting, throwing glances at Keith as if he could communicate his thoughts with his eyes. He couldn’t, and Keith quirked an eyebrow at him every time their gazes met. Pidge had managed to fix his computer—it worked even better than before. She had tweaked a few things to make it faster and, when asked how much he owed her, she retorted that she’d ask for payment when she needed a favour from him. Had she been a guy, he’d have known what this meant. As this stood, he didn’t know what she might want from him, so he let this sit.

At around supper time, Lance and Pidge started badgering poor Hunk so he’d cook a meal for them. With one glance inside their fridge, he announced even he couldn’t produce miracles out of nothing, so he forced them to accompany him to the nearest grocery store. It still pissed outside. Lance tried to weasel his way out of this. Hunk didn’t relent, so, armed with umbrellas, they left the flat, Lance complaining all the while. Keith just waved at him from the threshold, trying not to smile in amusement.

As soon as the front door closed, Panchito was on him. Keith tugged him by the hand to his bedroom, guessing they had about half an hour before the others came back. He knew what Panchito liked, so he pushed him against the wall, went on his knees in front of him, and sucked him off. Panting, eyes shining, Panchito stared at him adoringly as he combed his fingers through Keith’s black hair. Panchito was already half hard so it didn’t take long to get him fully ready. Once he was, Keith pulled back, shoved him down on the bed, and rode him hard until he finished with a full-body shudder that left him boneless. Keith, barely flushed from the exertion and not even turned on, nonetheless slumped beside other man. Riding Panchito might not have tired him out much if he hadn’t still been sore from the fights last night. For a moment, he wished he could just close his eyes and catch a quick nap before supper. Instead, he leaned on one elbow to look into Panchito’s satisfied face.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Panchito’s blessed afterglow shattered. He groaned as if Keith had punched him in the guts. He rubbed his hands over his chubby cheeks.

“I’m in trouble.”

“Again?”

Another groan. “Don’t be mean with me, kitten!”

“Don’t call me that and I won’t be mean to you.”

Instead of answering, Panchito turned his full attention to him. He traced Keith’s lips with his thumb, eyes following the gesture avidly. He was always gentle whenever they were together—Panchito probably couldn’t be rough even if he tried to. Keith allowed him the small liberty of tracing the lines of his face even though he didn’t particularly liked being touched that way. He could tell his friend was troubled and bullying Panchito into spilling the truth was the surest way to get him to clamp up.

“So, trouble?” Keith asked. His eyelids fluttered when Panchito touched the scar on his cheek. He grabbed the fingers and brought them to his lips, giving them a playful bite. “You got to tell me if you want my help.”

“You’ll make fun of me. Can I fuck you again instead?”

“No, you can’t. There’s no time. Spill the beans, Panchito. I might make fun of you, but I’ll still help.”

Panchito heaved a sigh. He sat up, running his hands through his messy brown hair. “Okay, so, I kind of have given something to a girl.”

“I swear, Panchito, if you tell me you’ve got the scratchies I’ll murder you!”

“No! Nononono! That’s not it I swear! I, erm, you remember that girl Lena?”

Keith tried to remember. “No. Who is she?”

Panchito seemed to sink in further into himself. “She’s erm… she’s part of Franciszek’s gang…”

“Franciszek? That guy from the Polish cartel? The one from upper town? Wait, isn’t Lena his _daughter_?” Understanding dawned on Keith. He sat upright. “Holy shit, Panchito, what did you do to that girl?!”

“IthinkImighthavegottenherpregnant!”

Keith stared in horror at his friend. Panchito shrank from his glare, all amorous thoughts apparently fled from his silly head. He twiddled his thumbs, face pale, shoulders hunched, looking kind of ridiculous with his pants around his ankles. The problem in itself would have been easy to overlook if this had been a different girl. The Polish cartel was a large cartel that operated mostly in upper town. It had some small branches in low town, not enough to be considered a rival for the rest of the cartels.

“How in hell did you get that girl pregnant?” Keith asked, flabbergasted. “When did you even meet her?”

Haltingly, Panchito explained that he’d met Lena at a party a few months ago. They’d hit it off immediately and had had some fun back at her hotel room. She’d contacted him a month ago to announce that he’d gotten her pregnant. It was her intention to keep the child _and_ she wanted to marry him. This was where Panchito balked. This was where Keith gaped. Lena wanted to marry him so her child wouldn’t be illegitimate. The Polish were apparently very traditional for that kind of stuff, believing that a child born out of wedlock was illegitimate and so many other such nonsense. Keith remembered from his history classes in high school that, centuries ago, this belief had been very present everywhere. Nowadays, it mattered little. Marriages were on the rise and very fashionable. A child born out of wedlock was as cherished as a child conceived on the marital bed. Panchito didn’t want to marry Lena. He thought she was hot and cool and fun without having any interest in spending the rest of his life with her. It apparently never crossed his mind that this was the perfect opportunity for him to get out of low town: by marrying her, he’d move to upper town and be the son-in-law of a rich businessman who had many legitimate ties everywhere. His father, Uncle Pedro, would die to secure such a union. Panchito hadn’t mentioned this to anybody else, of course.

“What do you expect me to do?” he asked once Panchito had finished his tale. “It’s not like I can go to the girl and punch her to change her mind.”

“Hm, I don’t know? You’re so smart, Keith, I thought you’d have an idea.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Well, you gotta let me think on this a bit! It’s not at all what I expected!”

“That’s not all, though.”

“Oh, shit, what else?”

“I’m not sure because I was stoned. I think she made me sign a paper?”

“Hell, Panchito! You’re ridiculous! What will happen if you don’t marry her? Her dad’s gonna break your legs?!”

Panchito whimpered. “That’s what I think…”

“Urgh. How long do you have to give her your answer?”

“End of next month.”

“That doesn’t leave us much time, then. Look, let me think. Maybe I’ll come up with something. Otherwise, you’ll have to marry that girl. There could be worse fates.”

“You really think her dad’s going to be happy that she marries some loser like me? No! He’s going to make my life hell!”

“He’s going to make your life hell whether you marry her or not, idiot. At least he won’t let you sink to the bottom of the river with cement shoes if you marry her. Whatever. Don’t mention this to anyone yet, all right? Let me think on it.”

Panchito rubbed his face tiredly. “All right. Thanks, Keith, you’re a real bro. I knew I could count on you.” He paused. “Do you think we have time for round two?”

Keith pushed him off his bed rudely. “Get the hell out of my room, moron!”

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Some bonding time between Shiro and Keith! Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -None

Life went back to normal after the episode of the Fightdome. Hunk and Pidge excitedly went all over the new plant they’d acquired, making plans and adjustments so they could start synthesizing the iIneverium as soon as possible. Despite running in a few snags, they never lost their enthusiasm and assured Lance all over again that they could start production as scheduled. Lance continued as before, keeping the truth of his secret project from his overbearing uncle. Only Marco had been told of it because, just like Lance, he was a visionary. Panchito wasn’t very good at hiding his mounting anxiety. He called Keith at least once a day to ask if he had an idea to fix his problem. Every day, Keith answered that no, there was no progress in that area, that he’d let him know as soon as an idea popped in his brain. As for Keith himself, his body healed quickly from the fights and he returned to work as if nothing had happened. His regular clients knew him so they weren’t much surprised by the bruises on his skin. With his laptop in topnotch condition, he resumed posting videos and pictures on his blog, which earned him a few bucks.

Really, except for those few bruises, the only thing Keith had to remind him of the Fightdome episode (if he didn’t count the destruction wrought by the earthquake of course) was Shiro’s police jacket. He was kind of embarrassed by how often he took it out of his wardrobe and laid on his bed with it, pressing the stiff fabric against his face. It still held a fading trace of Shiro’s familiar smell. Whenever Keith inhaled it, it reminded him of his teenage years spent chasing Shiro. It reminded him of the hours he’d spent in Shiro’s flat with Adam, the three of them seated on the couch together like they’d always been a family. It had been so natural for Keith to enfold himself into their life, to become part of their household. Normally, Keith wasn’t good with people. He didn’t like strangers, yet it had been easy for him to trust Shiro implicitly. The man’s warm aura, his approving smile, his gentle words, his kind touches, they had all contributed in earning Keith’s trust. He’d been one of the very few adults who hadn’t given up on him, who’d believed he could accomplish great things and who’d tried giving him the tools he needed to achieve them. It was in no way Shiro’s fault that Keith had dropped out of school or that he’d been kicked out of the youth centre where he’d been living since his father’s death. Shiro hadn’t given up on him even then—instead, he’d given him full access to his flat, telling him to visit whenever he needed. When Keith had been arrested and kept in jail overnight, Shiro had kept an eye on things so he wouldn’t get hurt. He’d made sure Keith wasn’t locked up with hardened, violent criminals and that nothing was stolen from him by the warden in charge. Keith was pretty sure that, without him, he’d have died a long time ago in that youth detention centre.

One perk of his job was that clients were required to pay for a hotel room to be able to meet with him. It meant that, if he were lucky, the room would have a shower and, if he were _extremely_ lucky, the hotel would have hot water. Today was a good day because, not only did the hotel room have a shower with hot water, it also had television, free coffee, and a few snacks. His client had rented the room for five hours and he’d only lasted three so he’d left in a huff, his pride smarting. Keith therefore had the whole place to himself for two full hours. He had no other client for the rest of the day, so he could take it easy.

Once alone, he turned the shower on and let the water run hot. Steam filled the tiny bathroom, fogging up the cracked mirror above the sink. Keith stood there, eyes closed, breathing deeply, naked toes curling on the cold tiled floor. It felt good to be encased in humid warmth, to feel anything else than chilly air against his skin. Pidge had asked him a few days ago what he’d do once he got rich, and he was pretty sure one of his first actions would be to buy himself a flat that had access to hot water. Showering in cold, or lukewarm in summer, water never felt as cleansing. There were clients Keith met that made him want to scour his skin with a hard brush after they were done with him.

The chime of his PDA coming from the next room pulled him out of his reverie. He considered ignoring the text—it couldn’t be that important. Or maybe it was Lance texting him to say he was being abducted by some rival gang and Keith had to save him. With a long-suffering sigh, he went back into the bedroom to check who’d texted him.

Shiro.

Keith’s breath hitched in his chest. He stood there in the middle of the bedroom that smelled like sex, naked, with the seed from some guy drying on his thighs, blushing furiously. For some mad moment, he toyed with the idea of taking a picture of himself just like that and send it to Shiro, just to see his reaction. Then, sanity reasserted itself. He shook his head, thoroughly mortified at the thought—this would surely kill Shiro. Or, worse, it’d drive a wedge between them and they’d never speak again.

He read Shiro’s perfectly tame text asking if Keith wanted to take out their hoverbikes for a race in the desert. It was one in the afternoon on a day without any cloud. Keith’s schedule was empty until tomorrow. He had time. Hell, yes, did he want to spend the afternoon with Shiro in the desert, with only each other for company. He answered that yes, he’d like that, and Shiro responded with a smiling smiley, which made Keith smile stupidly in return. He no longer wished to laze about so he rushed into the shower, barely slowing to enjoy the warmth. His client had been pretty tame, which left him pain -free and ready to enjoy a long afternoon with Shiro.

Once showered and toweled, he tugged on his clothes, spent exactly two minutes half-heartedly blow-drying his hair, and then hurried home. It was stupid to rush—Shiro wouldn’t just change his mind if they didn’t meet in the next half -hour. It didn’t matter to Keith. He wanted to see the other man. They hadn’t seen each other for the last couple of weeks, not since the incident at the Fightdome. They’d exchanged a few texts, never enough to satisfy Keith. It had been so long since he’d had a few hours alone with Shiro. Usually, when they met, it was at Adam’s flat or when they stumbled upon each other by accident on the streets when Shiro was on patrol. Ever since Shiro had reappeared a year ago, there’d been an awkwardness between the two of them. Keith didn’t take it much to heart because Shiro had been awkward with everybody else too, even with Adam. Whatever had happened to him during his two years of disappearance had made him mistrustful—no, wary, not mistrustful. And not wary of others. In fact, he looked wary of _himself_ , like he couldn’t trust himself with other people. Keith couldn’t find the right words to explain what felt different about his old friend, and talking about this with Adam hurt too much. They both worried for Shiro, and Keith had the nagging suspicion that Adam knew what had happened and didn’t want to tell him. If Keith were a meaner man, he might think of using this time alone with Shiro to squeeze some answers out of him. Instead, he told himself that he’d use this chance to prove to Shiro he was there for him, always. Perhaps the other man would feel comforted by his presence too.

Lance wasn’t home when Keith arrived. He’d been called to some family meeting by his uncle and Keith was pretty happy to have been overlooked for this. Family meetings with Uncle Pedro weren’t about eating a good supper and having fun around the dining table: it was about drug business and usually about _bad_ business. He hoped the older man hadn’t learned about Lance’s plans with the new drug—they were screwed if that were the case—or that Panchito’s secret was still safe. No, he thought that if things were about to go south for Lance, he’d have been called over too. Uncle Pedro knew they were in this together, that they were a team. Most likely, it was about the turf fight that had happened a couple of weeks earlier. Both Njàll’s and Minoru’s gangs had been pretty quiet lately so it was possible they were up to no good.

Keith refused to worry about this right now. Nope, he wouldn’t let his afternoon with Shiro be ruined. He changed into more comfortable clothes and grabbed his goggles from their hook behind his bedroom door. The glasses were covered with a thin layer of dust—it had been way too long since he’d taken his hoverbike out.

He kept his most precious possession in the shed situated behind the apartment building. Every tenant had a small space to store stuff inside the shed. Keith paid a monthly allowance to three of the other tenants so he could use theirs to store the bike that was too large to fit inside his own allotted space. Everybody in the building knew better than to touch it. When he slid the door open on its railing, he noted with satisfaction that the tarp covering the bike had been undisturbed since his last visit. Dust danced in a shaft of watery sunlight. The air inside the shed smelled musty, close. Miscellaneous junk filled the place, from discarded boxes to tools to old pieces of furniture. The cluster was a familiar one—nothing seemed to ever be removed or added. There was still that red footprint on the dirt floor he’d left when he’d stepped into an upturned can of paint. How pissed he’d been to ruin his one good pair of shoes.

He removed the tarp, sending a cloud of dust into the air that made him sneeze, then inspected the hoverbike carefully. Along with his trustworthy knife, this bike was the only thing he had to remember his parents by. It had belonged to his father who’d bought it brand new when Keith had been five. He remembered it like it was yesterday, the amazement he’d felt at seeing the shiny red bike on the front lawn of the small shack they’d lived in. The once bright red paint that was Keith’s favourite colour had faded somewhat. It should have been seized like every other possession Keith had had in the world when he’d gone into the system after his father’s death. It had thankfully been overlooked. By some miracle, it hadn’t been registered anywhere so the officials who’d taken over his case hadn’t known of its existence. It had still been locked inside the shack’s shed when Keith had returned home after running away from the youth centre. Nobody had wanted to buy the small construction of old wood in the middle of the desert, so everything had been left as Keith remembered, only covered in a layer of grime. He technically shouldn’t have been allowed to drive it since he hadn’t had a driver’s license, but he’d been careful when bringing it back into the city. Now, it was truly his and he could drive it lawfully around if he so wished. Shiro had been the one to teach him how to drive a hoverbike, a bold move since he’d been way too young for that, Keith thought. In Neo-Metropolis, one had to be sixteen to be allowed a driver’s license.

He wheeled the bike out of the shed. Under the better light, he saw that the poor thing was in need of some caring. There were tiny spots of rust on the fuel tank and the leather of the seat was cracking. He’d take care of this once he had a minute to spare. Hell, maybe he’d ask for Shiro’s help—the guy was good when it came to motor and stuff like that. It would be a fine excuse to spend time with him.

The engine purred to life instantly. Keith listened to the familiar noise for a few seconds, both to hear if there was any hitch and simply to enjoy the sound. It reminded him so much of his father that his heart squeezed in his chest. He barely remembered his old man’s face now. He only had the vaguest memories of a scruffy square chin, kind eyes, and big, work-roughed hands. Fourteen years—it had been fourteen years since his father had run into a burning building and had met his end. He’d died a hero, everybody had said. Keith would have preferred a cowardly, alive father than a heroic, dead father.

Scowling, he pulled his goggles down so they rested comfortably on his nose. Those too had belonged to his father. They hadn’t fitted Keith’s small face when he’d been a child. Now, when he tightened the cord as much as possible, the fit was more comfortable. His father had been a big man, much bigger than Keith was at twenty-two, so nothing of his would have ever fitted him properly.

His thoughts cleared the second he straddled the bike. Keith loved it, loved the speed and power of it, loved how it gave him a sense of freedom he hadn’t thought existed. He had to restrain himself from speeding through the streets—there were few police patrols that went after vehicles in low town because so few people owned cars, but it would suck to be pulled over right now. Shiro wouldn’t be proud of him of him for getting a speeding ticket. Pedestrians turned to glance at him as he drove by and one kid whooped excitedly. Keith had to grin at the young boy, feeling stupidly foolish. Whether it was because of the bike or because he was meeting Shiro, he couldn’t be sure.

Inhabitants of Neo-Metropolis weren’t free to go as they pleased. One had to have a special permission to be allowed out of the city. There was a border that kept people where they belonged. Because Keith had been born out of the city, he was allowed to leave as he pleased. Someone like Lance had to have a permit to leave. There were no laws forbidding a person from going out, the permit simply had to be acquired. It was yet another way for the Galras to make money. They could refuse exit to anyone for any kind of reason, though Keith had never heard of someone being denied. Exit permits were simply so expensive that few bothered. Policemen like Shiro or firemen like Keith’s father were allowed to go as they pleased. Rich folk who had summer estates out of Neo-Metropolis paid a yearlong fee so they wouldn’t have to bother with requesting a permit every time they left.

Today being the middle of a weekday, there was little traffic. Keith was over the border in a matter of minutes. As soon as he was on the highway and the fence was out of sight, he twisted the throttle. The hoverbike roared beneath him as it shot forward like a bullet. He couldn’t stop himself: he grinned foolishly as he leaned in. Wild wind tugged at his hair and jacket. The scenery zipped by at a maddening speed, nothing more than a brownish blur out the corner of his eye. All he saw was the long, grey stretch of road unfurling in front of him endlessly. The bike purred contentedly, sounding as if it were happy to be out of its shed.

He met up with Shiro at an abandoned gas station about ten miles away from the city. He veered off the highway onto a narrower road that was slowly disappearing beneath orange sand. He didn’t need to follow it to know where to go: he’d been this way so often he could find it with his eyes closed. Disused gas stations like this one filled the landscape outside the city. Vehicles of the past had needed petrol to run. When new, cleaner energies had been discovered, petrol had been gradually abandoned. Nowadays, Keith didn’t think it was used anywhere anymore. Although gas stations inside the city had been destroyed long before his birth, those lost in the desert had been left untouched. They were now relics from a distant past that hardly made sense to people like him. The small, square building had long ago reverted to a husk, its paint scoured by sand and hot winds. What had been pumps were nothing more than vaguely rectangular-shaped piece of rusted metal. Despite the passage of time, Keith fancied he could still smell what he supposed had been the petrol, a greasy, oily scent.

Shiro was waiting for him beside his own black hoverbike. He’d tugged the goggles down around his neck and fiddled with his PDA. Keith took a second to observe him, that tall, muscular form draped in a familiar leather jacket that looked a tad too tight around the shoulders and chest. He looked at ease with one hip resting against the frame of the bike. Out of his policeman uniform, Shiro looked more relaxed, friendlier. The sun shone brightly on his black hair and the strands of bright white that fell on his forehead softened his strong features. Shiro was tall and broad and impossibly strong, yet there was a vulnerability to his posture that made Keith’s heart lurch. He stood like a man no longer self-assured, a man whose place in the world had shifted so much he had no idea where he belonged anymore. Keith wasn’t sure how he read all of this simply in Shiro’s stance. Maybe it was because he was also so acutely aware of the older man that any minor difference jumped to his attention. Keith wanted to protect him so much it hurt. He remembered Adam talking about night terrors, about Shiro flailing in his sleep and weeping and crying out for help. In broad daylight, the lingering effects of those nightmares were still visible. It was in the shadows under Shiro’s eyes and the uncertain tilt of his head. It was in those scars that now covered his body and in that prosthetic right arm that seemed to disgust him.

Hearing him approaching, Shiro looked up and a bright smile broke on his face. Keith nearly crashed his stupid hoverbike then and there, blinded by that smile. He managed to steady the bike enough and pull it to a stop beside Shiro’s without disgracing himself. Damn it, that man would be the death of him.

“Good afternoon, Keith,” Shiro said, still smiling. “Were you speeding? You look flustered.”

Keith hopped off the bike and tugged his goggles around his neck. He ran a hand through his windblown hair. “Eh, maybe?” Couldn’t very well tell him he was flustered because he’d been ogling him. “You off work today?”

Shiro nodded. “Yes. You probably heard that Commander Sendak has been acquitted of all charges against him?” His expression sobered a little. “He’s scheduled to return to Earth tomorrow and Emperor Zarkon wished to welcome him back personally. He’s due to arrive this afternoon.”

Keith’s eyes widened. “Really? Shouldn’t the best policeman on the force be there for security purposes and stuff?”

Shiro smiled, flattered and amused by the statement. “The Emperor favours his Galra policemen, as you know. We weak humans have been given the day off.”

“You could easily kick the ass of any of his Galra thugs.”

A shadow crossed Shiro’s eyes at this. Keith’s throat tightened—shit, what an idiot he was! He shouldn’t be talking like that, not when he had the nagging feeling that the Galras were somehow involved in what had happened to Shiro during his two-year disappearance. Thankfully, the good mood reasserted itself quickly and Shiro laughed the comment off.

“I hope you weren’t busy,” he said.

“Nah, I was finished with my client when you texted me.”

Shiro’s eyebrows twitched and he looked away, clearing his throat.

They didn’t talk about this, about Keith’s job. He didn’t know why exactly. Was Shiro embarrassed for Keith? Was he disappointed or even ashamed of what the man he considered a little brother did for a living? Shiro was kind of stuck up. He was easily flustered when it came to sex—Keith couldn’t remember ever seeing him kissing Adam when he was in the same room as them. There had been a time when Keith had wanted to shake Shiro and order him to say what he honestly thought of the situation. Keith couldn’t live with the thought of him being disgusted by his livelihood. Nowadays, he let it slide. He was careful not to mention it when he was with Shiro to spare them both. Despite Keith being open, this was difficult for him too. For some reason, it was only when he was with Shiro that his job made him disgusted with himself. Shiro didn’t judge, but Keith actually understood so little of how the man thought that it was easy to imagine the worst. Shiro had never been with anyone else than Adam—they’d been each other’s first boyfriend. Shiro still clung to Adam, was still faithful to him despite them no longer being together. Did this mean Shiro liked his men to be virgins? Did this mean he liked his bedmates to be exclusive to him? Did this mean he didn’t understand that sex existed outside a steady relationship? If any of these were true, or even a little true, what did this say about his opinion of Keith? Keith, who fucked unknown men for money, who had no shame about his sexuality, who enjoyed sex openly, who wasn’t shy about his body? He wasn’t prim and proper like Adam, wasn’t stuck up or coy. Did this make Shiro think any less of him? Oh, how he wished he were better with words just so he could clarify all this.

“So, hm, you wanna race?” Keith asked.

Shiro nodded, clearly glad for the change of subject. “Sure! How about ten laps to the old tree and back here?”

“Are you sure you’re up to that, old man? Last time, I wiped the floor with you.”

Shiro laughed warmly. “Don’t get cocky, Keith. It’s going to be your downfall.”

Keith couldn’t stop himself from smiling back. “You wish!”

This was such a familiar scene from his teenage years that Keith could almost believe he was fourteen again. They’d raced that old track often: the ground between the gas station and the old, lightening-struck tree about three miles away was flat and free of those small, pesky bushes that grew everywhere else in the desert. There was no obstacle to hinder them. The sun in their eyes added a new degree of challenge and, sometimes, the wind picked up to make things more interesting. Keith had lost the  count of the times they’d gone back to Shiro’s flat covered in grime after a race, only to have Adam railing at them for dragging dirt all over his furniture.

Keith straddled his bike and pulled his goggles over his eyes. Beside him, Shiro was getting ready. They exchanged one last look. There was bright excitement in Shiro’s dark eyes and he truly looked carefree for the first time in a year. Keith’s heart soared knowing he was the cause of that happiness—and Shiro used that half second of distraction to pull away. Keith shouted in dismay and floored it.

The engines roared in the dry air of the desert. Particles of sand flew everywhere. Keith leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Shiro’s back just in front of him. Sheer speed wasn’t the way to win, not against Shiro. Keith had to be smart about this, had to manoeuvre the bike to the utmost of its abilities to have a chance. Shiro always knew when to lean this way or that, when to decrease the speed by a fraction or when to release the brake. It was as if he planned his course to the millisecond before it even started.

The old, gnarled tree came into view. Keith banked, resting his whole weight on his left leg as the bike circled around the tree in a tight loop. The engine screamed as he released the brake half a fraction too soon. Shiro was already speeding ahead, the manoeuvre flawless as always. Keith growled in frustration, slamming his foot on the clutch. Wind tugged at his hair. For a moment, he only saw a black curtain as he shook his head. When his vision cleared, he spotted an object high in the sky. Sky traffic was heavy around here and he refused to be distracted. He twisted the throttle as the bike righted itself after the turn. It leapt forward, almost as eager as him to win the race. Shiro was already pulling ahead.

There was a sudden concussion. Keith felt it in his bones half a second before a wall of air hit his bike. It was like hitting a sandstorm: he was thrown backward off his seat. The sky became the earth as his vision went blurry. He had no time for any thought except _don’t hit your head_ . He hit the ground shoulder first with an explosion of pain. The wind was knocked out of his lungs. His vision went white. He barely felt himself rolling in the sand, limbs flung every which way. He had no idea of where he was, only that his world had been rocked by bright agony. A whistling, high-pitched sound filled his ears. There was the taste of blood in his mouth. Trying not to panic, he remained unmoving, eyes still tightly shut. Breathing hurt like a bitch. His first coherent thought when the world stopped spinning around him was _Shiro_.

Keith gasped and opened his eyes. His sight was greeted by the greyish-blue of the sky. He panted, pain stopping him from taking a full breath. Gritting his teeth against it, he rolled on his side and heaved himself to a sitting position. The movement, albeit slow, made him want to puke. He shook, body covered in cold sweat. What the fuck had happened? Had he hit an object? No, no, he was sure the road had been clear. It didn’t matter though, he had to make sure Shiro was all right.

Around him, the dust was settling slowly. His hoverbike laid on its side, engine still chugging bravely. He couldn’t tell whether it had been damaged. Keith pressed a hand to his painful right shoulder—it didn’t feel broken but touching it hurt.

“Shiro?” he called in a strangled voice.

The sand particles lodged in his throat made him cough. He thought he spotted a dark speck a few feet away that might be Shiro. Cursing, groaning, Keith pulled himself to his feet. His legs shook, yet he forced them to carry him nonetheless. The right lenses of his goggles was cracked and there were reddish specks on it. There might be a cut on his forehead. He didn’t care to check, not before he made sure Shiro was all right.

The dark mound he’d spotted was Shiro’s hoverbike, not him. He looked at it in dismay, thoughts unfurling. The dust was starting to settle around him finally. He stood there for a moment, battling a wave of nausea. He closed his eyes against it, gritting his teeth.

“Keith, oh, dear, are you okay? Keith!”

He jerked when he heard Shiro’s voice and turned to follow it. Shiro was walking towards him, covered in scratches and bruises, apparently not too hurt. There was a tear in his leather jacket over one elbow where Keith spotted some blood.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. What about you?”

As if not believing him, Shiro touched his face gently, probing at his skull. Keith winced when the careful fingers brushed against a spot above his eyebrow—yep, a definite cut there. Shiro observed him closely, worry twisting his features. Despite everything, Keith basked in the attention, forgetting for an instant what had just happened. He stopped himself from wincing when Shiro touched his shoulder, not wanting to make him worry.

“I’m fine,” Shiro assured distractedly. He took a step back once satisfied that Keith wasn’t too battered. “We should head home.”

“What happened? What was that?”

Shiro looked grim. He turned his eyes north where Keith noticed for the first time a huge halo of black smoke.

“Isn’t that—“

“The Emperor’s private skydock,” Shiro confirmed darkly. “I think something happened to the Emperor’s ship.”

“What?”

Shiro went to his hoverbike and rightened it. He gave it a quick once-over before saying: “I got to go. I’m sorry, Keith, we’ll have to reschedule that race. Can you make it home on your own?”

“I—What’s going on? You’re pretty banged up, maybe you should see a doctor first.”

Shiro smiled slightly and patted his hair. “I’m fine, I promise. Please, you should go home and see to that cut on your forehead. I’ll call you later tonight, okay?”

Keith wanted to be petulant and say that no, he didn’t want that. He swallowed it all though, knowing it was Shiro’s duty to check what had happened.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Be careful, Shiro. Don’t be a hero.”

They stood there for a second and Keith had the mad, mad idea to kiss Shiro. He could later blame it on the concussion or the shock or whatever—he didn’t. He took a step back. Shiro offered him one last smile before hopping on his bike and rushing in the direction of the big plume of smoke.

Keith watched his retreating back until it had disappeared in the distant haze. Then, with a sigh, he rightened his own bike and went home.

He was greeted with the news that Emperor Zarkon’s ship had been shot down by an unknown party.

There was no survivor.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Look at the amazing art Azulead did for this chapter!](https://twitter.com/AzuleadArt/status/1081998467612979201)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -Drug use  
> -Alcohol consumption  
> -Sex

Keith prided himself in being able to keep a cool head, but there was no denying the flutter of sheer panic in his chest when he heard the news. Lance and the rest of the gang had once again taken ownership of the living room. They’d been watching a movie when it had been replaced by an emergency broadcast announcing what had just happened. The anchorman looked utterly distraught as he related the attack on Emperor Zarkon’s ship. Behind him, the newsroom was in chaos as reporters rushed about, trying to understand what had just happened. It was too early to reach conclusions other than there could be no survivor. The crash site was a gigantic mass of black, burnt wreckage still burning too hot for any fireman or rescue party to approach. The live feed looked like a scene from an over-the-top action movie—Keith wouldn’t have believed an object could burn so bright for so long. Nobody knew for certain how this had happened. Some suspected a mechanical failure. Others that it had been an error by one of the pilots. Worryingly, rumours started flying that this might not have been an accident. Sabotage, maybe? An attack from an unknown party?

“Holy shit,” Panchito breathed. “What’s going to happen? Zarkon’s been in power for centuries!”

“Surely, his son Lotor will be emperor now?” Lance said.

Then they all noticed him standing there—they’d been too engrossed to even hear his footsteps.

“Keith, are you okay?!” Lance exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “You’re bleeding and you’re covered in dirt!” He lowered his voice to an uncharacteristic growl: “Your client hurt you or something?”

Keith shook his aching head. “No, no. I was with Shiro. We were racing. I saw the explosion and was knocked off my bike. It’s fine.”

“You saw the explosion?” Hunk gasped, sounding as if Keith had witnessed the whole thing up close.

“Kinda. It just happened very fast. One second there was the ship and the next it was exploding.”

“Guys, let’s forget Zarkon for a second!” Lance said in annoyance. “Keith’s hurt!”

Everybody—even Pidge—went into some kind of overprotective overdrive at this statement. Keith was pulled against his will towards the bathroom where too many pairs of hands probed at his wounds. It only resulted in more pain and Lance, bless him, finally lost patience—he kicked them all out and slammed the door shut in their faces. From the other side came disappointed grumbling. Hunk then proclaimed loudly he was going to cook some comfort food and Pidge announced she was going to take a look at Keith’s hoverbike for damages.

Keith hoped Shiro was receiving the same kind of attention on his end.

Lance took his time cleaning the cut on his forehead, being gentle about it. He looked worried as he worked, thin eyebrows pulled in a frown and jaw set. Keith’s head hurt from his fall as did his shoulder. When he removed his jacket and shirt, he saw that the skin from the base of his neck to his bicep was one giant blue bruise. Moving his arm made him reel with pain. There were other scrapes and bumps on his body, that weren’t too worrisome. He let Lance help him into fresh clothes, gritting his teeth when he had to move his arm to pull on a shirt. Lance talked to him gently, as if he were a skittish animal—he must look particularly bad for the guy to be treating him like glass.

“Maybe you should take a nap,” Lance suggested. He ran a hand through Keith’s hair, pushing it back from the newly-bandaged cut on his forehead. “You look like you need it.”

“I’m fine, Lance. Don’t fuss.”

“Of course I’m fussing, Keith! You just had an accident! You could’ve been killed.”

He mustered a tiny smile for his friend. “It takes more than getting thrown to the ground to kill me.”

Lance groaned and pulled Keith against him, muttering about him not getting the point at all. He allowed it, melting into the embrace. He rested his head on Lance’s shoulder. The fingers combing through his hair felt stupidly good—Lance was stupidly good at making him feel good. It was small moments like this that reminded Keith how much he liked his friend, how much he trusted him. If it hadn’t been for his heart being so completely overtaken by Shiro, Keith was pretty sure he could have fallen for Lance. Lance, with his loudness and his annoying jokes and his stupid, boundless energy, and with his overflowing kindness and gentleness and loyalty.

“I’d carry you to bed like a princess if you didn’t weigh as much as you did,” Lance murmured against his hair. “You might break my back.”

Keith snorted. He patted Lance’s arm. “You could carry me to bed if you bulked up a little.”

“Not my fault I can’t put on any muscles.”

“Nah, I suppose not. I can’t either.”

Lance chuckled. “Come on, baby bro. Off to bed with you or I’ll have Hunk actually drag you there. You know he could.”

“Yeah, at least he’s got some serious muscles going on for him.”

“And he’d welcome the chance of carrying his beloved Keith like a delicate princess! Actually, all of them would welcome that chance, you know? Even Pidge.”

Keith didn’t say anything for a moment. “I know. You’re all too nice with me.”

“We’re as nice as you deserve. Anyway, no more talking—that head wound is making you way too mushy, it’s suspicious. Go to bed, we’ll be quiet, I promise.”

Keith wanted to protest—his head simply hurt too much to form any more argument. He allowed Lance to pull him to his bedroom, tuck him in, and kiss his hair. It was ridiculous and a part of himself, a tiny one, chafed at being treated like that. He hated being weak, hated being so hurt others had to take care of him. This was Lance though and Lance was allowed to do whatever he wanted. Keith didn’t quite mind being vulnerable in front of him—he’d seen him in much worse states of distress in the past. Still, Keith was supposed to be the strong one, the one to protect and care for Lance, not the opposite. On the other hand, if Lance had to take care of him, it meant that Lance was safe, which was a good thing in itself, right? It meant Keith had accomplished what he’d set out to do, hadn’t it?

Exhaustion claimed him.

-

He woke up to a hand gently shaking his shoulder. Blearily, he opened his eyes just enough to see Hunk’s face hovering near his own.

“Keith, buddy, your PDA’s been chiming,” he said. “It’s that policeman calling you.”

For a second, Keith’s brain refused to function. Why would a policeman be calling him? And then it hit him: Shiro was a policeman and Shiro had said he’d call him. He sat up, taking his PDA from Hunk’s hand. The caller ID showed him Shiro’s name. Without thinking, he accepted the call. A small, rectangular-shaped holoscreen popped up from the PDA. The line connected and he saw Shiro’s face on the screen.

“Shiro,” Keith greeted, voice rough from sleep. “Is everything okay?”

Shiro’s eyes softened visibly. “ _Keith, you were sleeping, I’m sorry. How are you doing?_ ”

“Fine, I’m fine. What about you? What happened? Did you make it back all right?” Shiro was wearing his uniform so Keith took it to mean he’d gone back to work. “Shouldn’t you be at home resting?”

“ _I’m okay. I’m needed at work right now. I presume you heard about the Emperor?”_ At Keith’s nod, he continued. “ _Things are a bit hectic around here. I cannot divulge any information, of course. I just wanted to make sure you were all right._ ”

There was an oddity to Shiro’s voice, a tension he was trying to hide. Keith blinked his eyes, trying to force himself more awake so he could understand what was off about the other man.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m okay. Shiro, don’t overwork yourself, okay?”

“ _I cannot promise right now. We need to investigate what happened. There’s a lot of tension in here and things won’t calm down until we find out who destroyed the Emperor’s ship.”_

“So it was someone who did this, not a malfunction.”

Shiro paused before shaking his head. “ _No, no malfunction or piloting mistake. Judging from the early reports, we suspect it was someone on the ground. That’s all I’m at liberty to say, however. I don’t want you to worry about this kind of thing. It’s going to be fine. The transition of power should be relatively smooth._ ”

“I see, if you say so. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

A smile. “ _Thank you. Go back to sleep, Keith, you look like you need it._ ”

Keith nodded and the screen went dark. He felt relatively well for the moment so he had no intention of going back to bed. He got up, body aching everywhere. His joints creaked. The pounding in his head had lessened. He nonetheless gratefully swallowed the painkillers Lance had thoughtfully left on his bedside table. He stood there for a moment, wishing that the afternoon had gone differently. That attack on their emperor had cut short his time with Shiro. It sucked and it meant the future was now more uncertain than before. Keith didn’t kid himself into thinking the transition of power would go smoothly: Zarkon had only one son, Lotor, but they’d never been fond of each other. It was well-known that the father had disapproved of the son’s philanthropic ideas. Zarkon had publicly called Lotor a coward and a disgrace for the Galra race. There had never been any public answer to those comments—surely Lotor hadn’t liked being insulted that way. And what of Zarkon’s wife, that woman called Honerva Allura had mentioned? Keith didn’t think he’d ever seen her—hell, he hadn’t heard of her before Allura had talked about her. He doubted the Galras would want to put a foreigner on their throne. What about a half-breed like Lotor? Half-breeds weren’t quite ostracised, without denying the fact that the full-blooded Galras liked to look down their nose at them. Would they agree to be led by one? And if not Lotor, who else could occupy the throne Zarkon had been seated on for ten thousand years? There was enough unrest as it was in low town, the people didn’t need a succession war to boot.

This didn’t concern him so he pushed this out of his mind. Gingerly, he stepped out of his room. The smells of cooking food attracted him towards the kitchen where Hunk was busy teaching Panchito how to peel a carrot. They both looked up when they spotted him, matching smiles of relief on their face.

“You feeling any better?” Panchito asked. “You had us worried.”

This was the first time Panchito was smiling this openly ever since he’d talked about his problems with the Polish girl. Keith refrained himself from shrugging his painful shoulders. “I’m fine, thanks. You guys need any help?”

“No!” Hunk exclaimed. He pulled a chair away from the table and gestured to it. “You sit and relax, we’ve got this!”

“Jeez, dude, I just fell off my bike.” He sat nonetheless. “Where’s Lance?”

“Playing _Call of Duty_ with Pidge.” Panchito scoffed. “I don’t understand why they’re so fond of those old video games? Like, the graphics are so bad? Anyway. Pidge fixed your bike—it was pretty banged up.”

Keith nodded—he’d have to thank Pidge for fixing his stuff again. Nobody apparently needed his help so he browsed the IG on his PDA for a while. All the chatter was about what had happened this afternoon. Theories ran wild, going from plausible to downright risible. Keith didn’t waste time on those. He didn’t care much about who had killed the emperor or who succeeded him. As far as he could tell, every Galra was a scumbag so it mattered little who sat on the throne. Their interests on Earth were minimal at best. They owned half of the galaxy and their presence was more heavily felt on many other planets. Here, they just ruled loosely, content with letting the humans mingle with other aliens in the day-to-day business. Possibly, the IAPC would have a hand in choosing the next emperor—they wouldn’t want someone too crazy or someone wanting to go back on old signed treaties.

Panchito and Hunk talked about the succession as they worked—both of them thought Lotor was the best choice for the next emperor because he looked nice. Neither of them was much more politically astute than Keith so their main argument in favour of the prince was that he didn’t look as crazy as Zarkon.

At supper, Lance briefed them on the status of their operation on the streets. Everything was pretty quiet for the moment—apparently, even the junkies were put out by Zarkon’s death. Pidge announced that she was done with the reconfiguration of the plant. Through the dark side of the IG, she had found a seller who was willing to part with some machinery she needed for a steep price. Once they had it, they would be ready to begin production. Hunk updated them on the current status of the RAM: as always, the demand extended the supply. Even with Pidge’s help when she wasn’t busy setting the plant up, they could hardly keep up. Panchito, who oversaw the distribution, assured them that everybody who tried the RAM came begging for more. He actually had a waiting list of potential buyers, two dozen who promised to become regulars.

“In other, unrelated news,” Lance said with a smile, “there’s a rave at my Marco’s club next week. We—“

“I’m coming,” Pidge cut immediately. “I want to see what a rave looks like.”

Hunk threw her an uncertain look. “Are you sure? I don’t think your parents would approve…”

“I’m twenty, Hunk, I don’t need my parents’ approval to do whatever I want. I’m sure it’ll be fun. I want to study the plebs at its lowest.”

Even Keith had to smile at her comment. “The plebs at its lowest, eh?”

“Oh, yeah. When I went to finishing school, our teachers kept warning us about those wild parties the low towners like to throw. According to them, it’s nothing more than orgies fueled by drugs and alcohol.”

Keith exchanged an amused look with Lance. “That’s what it amounts to, actually. With loud music.”

Pidge’s eyes shone with mirth. “Is that so? Great then. I’ll be able to experience it firsthand.”

“Plus, it’s a great place to dispose of our unsold merchandise,” Lance added, waving his fork. “The kids there are desperate for an easy escape. By the way, I’m kinda offended by your statement, Pidge? There’re a lot of upper towners who attend those raves! You’d be surprised how many college kids visit Marco’s clubs because the posh parties on the other side are boring as rain.”

“I’m just wondering,” Panchito said nervously, “if it’s wise to attend a rave at this moment?” At their puzzled looks, he explained: “I mean, the emperor just died. Won’t the Galras be offended? Aren’t they in mourning?”

Pidge shook her head. “No, they aren’t like that, they don’t really mourn their dead. They’re probably angrier at the fact that someone had the guts to kill Zarkon than they are sad at his death. They don’t give a damn what we Earthlings do. They’re going to be fighting this out amongst themselves. Before we know it, there’ll be a new emperor and nothing’ll have changed.”

“You seem to know a lot about them,” Panchito concluded.

“We see a lot more of them in upper town. My family used to mingle with them back when we were rich. I grew up surrounded by them. There were tons of Galra kids at my school.”

“They have kids?” Lance said, grimacing.

“What, you thought the Galrans appeared out of thin air?” Keith asked with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, they do, Lance,” Pidge confirmed in annoyance. “They make babies just like we do. I don’t know if their anatomy is the same as ours before you ask.”

“Most likely, the women have teeth in their pus—“ Lance began.

“I hope they do and one of them bites your dick off!” Pidge cut over him.

Hunk groaned and rubbed his forehead while Lance spluttered in indignation. Panchito looked torn between laughing and defending his cousin. Keith threw a sympathetic look at Hunk—they really were stuck with children.

-

While the Galras fought it out—sometimes literally—amongst themselves, life for the ordinary citizens of Neo-Metropolis went on. Keith did his best to stay away from the news channels—he was already sick of that succession thing. Lotor’s claim to the throne was being challenged by dozens of contenders, most of whom had once been generals or men trusted by Zarkon. Commander Sendak returned to Earth too, as was expected after he’d been acquitted. Keith heard through Adam that the commander of the CTAC was very vocal in his opposition of Lotor as their new emperor, calling him weak and reminding everybody that he was only a half-breed. Clans formed behind each of the contenders and the clashes between them were often violent. None of the violence happened on Earth, thankfully. The news reported epic battles fought in space and on other planets. For the moment, the IAPC remained suspiciously silent, not weighing in for one candidate or the other.

Keith cared dimly about the whole thing only because it all affected Shiro. Whoever was put in charge of the Empire would be in charge of the police too, here on Earth and most likely on every other planet the Galras occupied. While Lotor seemed inclined to fight his war with words mostly, Commander Sendak was gearing up for a real armed confrontation. The CTAC was on high alert, ready to be deployed at a moment’s notice. The ordinary police force went on with its business as usual despite the tension there. The different branches were eyeing each other suspiciously, wondering which one would be first to join one side or the other. The DEA, Chief Holt’s division, remained neutral for the moment. No doubt a lot of pressure was being applied on the man for him to choose a side.

Every time he called Shiro assured Keith that everything was fine. Every time he did, Keith noticed new lines of strain on his face and tension in his shoulders. He inquired—the answer was always the same _I’m fine, don’t worry_. It was hard not to worry when Keith received contradictory reports. Even if Shiro said he was fine, Adam’s tune was different. Shiro barely slept at night. He spent almost every waking hour at work. He stayed at Adam’s place for the sole reason it was closer to the commissariat than his own flat. He ate standing up, eyes glued to the telly or to his PDA. Whenever he lied down, he tossed and turned for hours. Adam never got him to settle down completely. Keith didn’t like this situation. He wished there was anything he could do. Short of holding Shiro down and dumping the whole content of a bottle of sleeping pills down his throat, there was nothing to be done. If Shiro didn’t listen to Adam, he certainly wouldn’t listen to Keith either.

He wasn’t much in the mood for Marco’s rave after that shitty week. His wounds from the hoverbike crash had faded for the most part. The cut on his eyebrow was nothing more than a small, healing scar. His shoulder still throbbed sometimes in a way that was easy to ignore. He was nearly back to full health. For someone like him who got hurt on a weekly basis, healing fast was a blessing. Still, he couldn’t really muster the enthusiasm necessary for a rave. If it weren’t for the good quantity of dope they banked on selling that night, he’d have stayed home without much regret. He was expected to pull his weight in the drug business so he couldn’t back out at this late date. He supposed that, once he got there, he’d have fun. He kind of enjoyed raves in a distant way. He’d sit on a stool by the bar, nursing his drink, and watch as people got shitfaced as the night wore on. Once in a while, he’d choose a likely prey, some guy on his own he could make eyes at. He’d flirt, reeling the guy in, and then ask him if he wanted to buy a little something-something. He didn’t sleep with those blokes he picked up at clubs unless they were ready to pay for it, and even then he’d be reluctant. Acting like this reminded him too much of his old life. He preferred when his clients booked an appointment with him the legal, safe way.

“Oh, you’re not going out dressed like that!” Lance exclaimed as soon as he stepped out of his room.

“What the fuck, Lance?”

“You should put on _those pants_! You know, the ones that make every one of us guys have an embarrassing boner?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Last time I wore them you complained exactly for that reason!”

He did change nonetheless, if only because seeing people’s reaction to the pants was priceless. They were kind of see-through, tight and hugging his curves quite nicely. If he gained one ounce, they would no longer fit. The sheer material left nothing to the imagination so he wore bright red shorts underneath, shorts so short that half his ass was visible. It wasn’t quite comfortable—they gave him a damn wedgie, but he supposed it was a small price to pay. He was pretty sure to catch the attention of a few guys tonight to sell them his stuff.

“It’s not fair that you’re a guy,” Lance whined after he’d changed. “Why aren’t you a girl, Keith?”

“I don’t know, ask my parents?”

“You’d be so hot!”

And of course Panchito said the same when he saw Keith. And Hunk nearly walked into a wall. And Pidge just quirked an eyebrow and asked if that was the new fashion in low town.

“That can’t be comfortable,” she said.

They were making their way towards the club. The thick, dark clouds hung low in the sky, promising a downpour before the night was through. The air smelled humid. At around midnight, the streets were mostly empty. The other bars and clubs they passed thrummed with life and loud music. Apparently, just as Pidge had said, nobody cared about Zarkon’s death, or at least they didn’t care enough not to party.

“You get used to it,” Keith said with a shrug. “Those are work clothes anyway.”

Pidge eyed him critically. “You sure? The fabric’s so thin it’d probably rip if someone gripped it too hard.”

“Not that work, Pidge, my drug selling work. I don’t dress like that when I whore. I don’t have to impress my clients. They already know what I look like and what they’re getting.”

She didn’t seem certain about that so didn’t pursue the subject. Keith only wished there wouldn’t be DEA-involved drug busts at the club—he wouldn’t want Shiro to see him dressed like that, not after he’d seen him in that dress. Shiro was so weird that his kink was probably oversized pajamas that left everything to the imagination.

Marco’s club was situated near the bridge so they had to take the skymetro to reach it. At that hour, the wagons were mostly empty except for a few junkies and weirdos. Lance sat Keith on his lap, grinning foolishly, and Keith allowed it only because the cheap, plastic seats were cold and his pants did nothing to protect him against it. Pidge fiddled on her PDA while Lance and Panchito talked excitedly about some girl who had just moved in next block. Hunk was looking nervous. Although he hadn’t said so out loud, Keith thought this was his first rave. Hunk had been with them for a while now, but he’d never been inclined in partaking to their lifestyle. He was a cook only and, when his shift was over, he went home to his family like ordinary, legit folk. He’d decided to accompany them tonight only because Pidge was there and he felt it was his responsibility to look after her. In a sense, it was a good thing. Lance and Panchito were heavy drinkers and Keith sometimes slipped. After he’d detoxed, he tried to keep his alcohol and drug intake to a minimum. He knew how easy it would be to fall anew. He’d become a lightweight so a few beers were enough to give him a pleasant buzz. He swore to himself he’d stay far from the heavier stuff—pot and the likes was all right while coke or Buster were off limits.

And anyway, he’d have to keep Hunk company so he had to stay sober.

His resolve held until they stepped into the crowded club. As soon as the doors opened, loud music assaulted them. It felt like a physical thing pushing against their eardrums. The goons manning the entry barely glanced at them—the goons were mostly for show, they wouldn’t stop anyone from coming in and their main duty was to collect the entrance fee. A few people milled outside, smoking cigarettes and laughing loudly together the way drunks were wont to do.

The club was a square, squat building that looked like dozens of others in that neighbourhood. It was situated in the best part of low town, where the ordinary, legit citizens mostly resided. Bright, green neon lights lit the façade in a dizzying kaleidoscope. There were no windows and only three ways in and out so that nobody could slip in without paying. Marco owned six such establishments, all of them of varying repute. This one was perhaps the most profitable—its proximity with the bridge made it attractive to college students looking for a fun night out without having to venture too deeply into low town. Furthermore, Marco made it a personal crusade that every person who crossed the bridge in a car to visit the club didn’t get it stolen: the carpark was fenced off and well-guarded by zealous thugs.

Inside, the décor was somewhat basic. The club used to be a warehouse of some sort. When he’d acquired the building, Marco had mostly left it untouched except for some minor updates and a new coat of black paint. A bar had been added, of course, as well as the four private lounges on the second floor. Everything had an old-school feel to it—the pipes hanging from the ceiling, the steel staircases, the old bathrooms that were still covered in graffiti, the concrete floor. Hell, even the smell of oil had yet to be replaced. Spotlights had been installed to light the dancefloor in bright rainbow colours. The rest of the club was plunged in a semi-darkness that made it the perfect place for shady deals.

They all paused in the vestibule as they let their ears adjust to the loud music. Keith felt the base all through his guts. Hunk’s eyes were huge and Pidge was already looking interested by what she was seeing. There were a few people standing there, talking animatedly with a glass in their hand. One of the girls had dyed her hair a bright, fluorescent pink that shone in the gloom. They were part of Marco’s crew, Keith knew, most of them movers. They all exchanged nods in acknowledgement. The girl with the bright hair told Lance that Marco was in one of the lounges with a few friends and some regular suppliers he wished to impress.

Thankfully, Lance decided to leave the business to Marco—Keith really didn’t feel like listening to the brothers argue with their partners over the price of every single tiny thing. Instead, Lance guided him towards the bar, skirting the packed dance floor. He kept a hand on Keith’s wrist, as if afraid Keith would drift away on his own. Already he could feel eyes on him that he ignored for the moment. No way was he doing anything without some alcohol in his system first. The rest of the group followed them, Hunk looking so out of place that it was comical. Pidge stood out too—she had to be the only girl not dressed in a mini-skirt and crop top. As always, she wore her baggy green shirt that hid her shape entirely. It made her look way too young to be in such a place. It hardly bothered her—she was too engrossed in her staring of the wild fauna of low town.

Keith leaned on the bar and ordered a beer. The bored-looking female Unilu that manned the bar dragged her feet about as she took his order then those of the others. Lance had apparently already spotted a pretty girl because Panchito and he were whispering excitedly, pointing towards a group of youngsters on the dance floor. Keith rolled his eyes—he had the sense he’d be going home on his own by the end of the night. Lance was pretty good at scoring with young women; he wasn’t ugly at all and he could be a smooth talker when he had a few beers in him. Panchito was chubby and smiley and like a puppy with his big brown eyes, and girls liked that for some reason.

To his surprise, Pidge was the first one to detach herself from the rest of the group. Armed with one glass of some bright liquor in her hand, she ventured into the gloomy recesses of the club to see what could be seen. Hunk stared at her go, too terrorized to follow. He’d ordered a soda, the bottle dwarfed in his huge, beefy hand. Keith patted his arm reassuringly. It was impossible to talk over the loud music so he mouthed _stop worrying so much_! For some reason, it seemed to only increase Hunk’s anxiety. Maybe it had been a bad idea to bring him here.

Next to leave were, of course, Lance and Panchito. One shot of rum later, they had gathered enough courage to approach a group of girls on the dance floor. Keith watched them go. These two were fascinating to observe: they could either be as smooth as honey or as dumb as rocks. He never knew in advance which of their personality would come out strongest. There were times when Lance had charmed the panties off a girl simply by looking at her. Other times, he couldn’t even get close to a girl without her laughing him off. Tonight seemed to be Lance’s lucky night however: the young woman who spotted him approaching offered him a winsome, flirty smile. He was rapidly pulled into the group, Panchito dragged after him easily. Keith sighed: so, he’d lost them to the girls. He hoped they’d at least keep their head on their shoulders so they could sell their stock to these girls.

Only Hunk and he were left. Keith nursed his beer quietly. The music pulsed through him like a second heartbeat. The tunes were not familiar, yet the never-changing beat made it look like time wasn’t passing. Men, women, and different types of aliens came and went at the bar, choosing their poison with care. Not once did the Unilu woman or her two co-workers offer a smile. Money exchanged hands over the dirty counter. Keith observed it from the corner of an eye. He leaned casually with his elbows on the bar, getting bored already. Beside him, Hunk was finally relaxing somewhat. He’d taken out his PDA and was browsing the IG, happy to be cut off the loud world. Pidge was nowhere to be seen. Keith didn’t worry: that girl could handle herself just fine.

He was on his third beer when a young woman came to the bar. He noticed her only because her elbow brushed his. She grinned apologetically at him, her glasses reflecting the overhead lights in a weird manner. Judging by her clothes, he guessed she was from upper town. She was dressed in a clean-cut grey blazer and pants, as if she were just out of the office. Her black hair was pulled back in a high ponytail. Something in her stand was familiar, just not enough for Keith to bother searching his memory. It was possible she was a regular of this place and, in the end, he didn’t care much. Girls didn’t interest him.

“Wow, you’re hot!” she yelled, her voice loud enough to be heard over the music.

He shrugged at her. She grinned again, seemingly understanding his lack of interest. The barmaid brought her four mugs of overflowing beer that she managed to pick up without dropping. Awkwardly, she made her way back to her friends, giggling at her clumsiness when some beer spilled on the floor. Keith’s eyes trailed her, certain that she would drop her burden before she reached one of the tiny tables tucked away from the dance floor. She didn’t, and she put down the mugs on the table, her body language screaming smugness. There was a blond girl with her as well as two guys. The four of them were clearly from upper town—their classy clothes giving them away as if they had big signs over their head. Keith wondered if Pidge had spotted them yet—there was her proof that not only the low towners enjoyed a good rave.

He was about to turn his attention elsewhere when he noticed that one of the guys was staring at him. Openly staring. Like, almost _impolitely_ staring. Keith stared back unabashedly. Rich kids were sometimes stuck up and this one seemed to fit the stereotype. Amused, Keith wiped the foam off his beer mug, gathering it on his forefinger and, not breaking eye contact, brought the finger to his mouth. He licked it slowly, making sure the piercing on his tongue was visible as he did so. If he’d been drinking, he’d have choked on his drink in laughter at the guy’s expression. Even from a distance, Keith saw his face turn red and his eyes widen. It was too easy.

When the guy, flustered, excused himself from his friends and hurried away, Keith pushed his mug towards Hunk and followed. This type of guy was the perfect target for a good drug sell. Rich kids in search of fun were ready to buy all kind of crap and they had ample money to pay for it. Keith cut through the dancefloor, easily moving between the undulating bodies. As he did so, he took his pack of cigarettes out his jacket pocket and tapped one of the smokes out. He came out of the mass of dancing people just in front of the rich guy. They stared at each other, the guy’s eyes wide as if Keith had just materialised out of thin air.

Whatever Keith was about to say died on his lips. He knew this bloke. How could he ever forget that arrogant tilt of the head or that stupid snobbish face? And the guy recognized him too. Keith saw his name on his lips. What was the guy’s name? They’d known each other in high school and Keith wasn’t sure he had ever known his name. All he remembered was that the bastard had had a fun time bullying him.

Oh. And yeah, Keith might have sucked his dick once in the showers after gym class.

Quick as lighting, Keith reached into the guy’s pant pocket and tugged out his PDA. He stepped out of reach as he swiped his thumb across the screen to access the ID. This was standard—every PDA showed its owner’s ID even with the screen locked so it could be returned in case it was lost. It also made it that much quicker if the owner was asked to prove their identity.

James Griffin. Law Student. Neo-Metropolis University.

He handed the PDA back, looking contemplatively at the guy who used to bully him. He remembered him perfectly now. Griffin had been a Grade-A student all throughout their years together. He’d been amongst the best at everything. He’d excelled in every subject and even in gym class. And he’d hated that Keith was every bit as good as him without having to try. He’d hated that a poor kid could be neck to neck in everything. Griffin’s father was someone obscenely rich, though Keith couldn’t remember who he was at that moment. Griffin had lorded his daddy’s fortune all the time, shitting on those students more unfortunate than him. He’d picked on Keith at every chance he got, mocking him for his old clothes or lack of friends. Once, he’d even made fun of Keith’s parents, which had earned him a punch in the face. They’d both been sent to the principal’s office. Griffin had been furious—no doubt daddy wouldn’t take lightly to his prodigal son getting his ass handed to him by a scrawny, poor kid. Keith couldn’t remember why he’d decided to suck this bastard’s dick. Probably it had been to shock him. Either way, it had worked: Griffin had looked like he’d have a heart attack on the spot when Keith had knelt in front of him. It had lasted no more than five seconds. Keith had left him trembling under the warm spray of water, aghast and red in the face. He’d been kicked out not long after that while Griffin had apparently continued bullying his way through life.

An unnameable emotion boiled inside Keith’s chest. It was so sudden it left him breathless. Without thinking, he grabbed Griffin’s arm and tugged him towards the stairs that lead to the lounges. Griffin followed, still looking dazed, not putting up any resistance. On the second landing, Keith took a left. This place was off limits to the regulars. Since the thugs guarding the lounges knew him, they let him pass without speaking up. One of them indicated the last room to the left, meaning it was empty and that he could use it. They barely glanced at Griffin. Keith pushed him through the door that he slammed shut with a resounding thud. The walls here had been soundproofed so the music didn’t seep through. For a second, the silence was as deafening as the beat on the dance floor had been. Keith heard himself gasping for breath. Griffin stared at him, wide eyed, uncertain. He glanced around at the empty room that was furnished with low couches, a mini bar, and a low table. The lights had been dimmed to a cozy glow. A large window gave a view of the rest of club below.

“What—“ Griffin began.

Keith pushed him roughly so Griffin more or less fell on his ass on the nearest couch. Keith climbed on top of him, his knees bracketing the other man’s hips. They were chest to chest, their breaths mingling.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Keith asked in a low voice.

Griffin gulped, his throat bobbing. He had to clear his throat before he could answer. “We wanted to have fun, my friends and I. W-we heard, hm, that this club was nice, so—so we decided to come?”

“Fun, eh? Fun with the lowlifes like us? Seemed like you didn’t get enough fun in high school, you bastard.”

“Look, Keith, I’m sorry for what happened, okay?” Griffin raised his hands in a placating manner. “I was a horrible brat, I know. I’m not like that anymore.”

“No?” Keith tugged at Griffin’s tie, pulling him closer. “You’re not here to make fun of us? Wave your money around and expect to be obeyed like you used to?”

“N-no! L-look, I can go if you want me to! I won’t come back, I promise!”

Keith looked down at the other man, taking his first real good look of him. Griffin hadn’t changed that much. His features were sharper now, his jaw more defined. He still had that infuriating lock of brown hair falling over his forehead that had to have women swoon. He was clean-shaven and dressed in a sharp, dark suit that was probably more expensive than Keith’s whole wardrobe. He still looked like a damn snob, like the perfect daddy’s boy he’d always been.

Keith leaned in closer until his lips were a hair’s breath away from Griffin’s. “Do you want to go? Is that your wallet in your pocket?” He grinded his hips down, not letting go of the other’s tie. “Or are you just happy to see me? Are you remembering that time I sucked your dick in high school? Is that why you’re so hard already?” He licked his lips. “I’ve gotten better now, _Jamie_. I’ve had years of experience. Care to try?”

A strangled sound escaped from Griffin’s throat. He was red as a tomato, eyes huge, hands hovering as if he didn’t know what to do with them. Keith could tell he was interested by the way the dick pressing against his backside twitched. A part of him wished Griffin would just push him off him and run for it. Another part, the one that smelled money on his clothes, wanted him to stay. Keith knew he could rock his world so completely Griffin would never want anyone else. Did he want that, though? Hatred burned in his guts as he stared into the other man’s purple eyes. Oh, if only Griffin roughened him off up a little, gave him a good excuse to use his knife on him. He knew this wouldn’t happen sadly. Griffin was a coward—he’d never gotten physical in his bullying of anyone. He’d used words because he knew words hurt far more than a punch to the face. It seemed oddly fitting that he’d chosen to become a lawyer, a professional twister of words.

Griffin’s hands came very slowly to rest on his hips. Keith relaxed his grip on the tie—so, the dye was cast. Griffin didn’t want to go. He wanted this. Although he still looked nervous, there was no hiding the heat in his eyes. Keith could feel the heat of his fingers through the sheer fabric of his pants.

“I’m gonna need you to pay me,” Keith said, combing his fingers through Griffin’s hair, pushing it back from his forehead.

“Sure, whatever. You’re worth every penny I have.”

“I’m not joking,” Keith said more firmly. “I’m a whore, that’s my job. I need to get paid.” At Griffin’s insistent nod, he grumbled: “Fine. You want some fun? I’ll give you some fun.”

He reached into his jacket pocket—it reminded him that he’d dropped his cigarette somewhere on the dance floor—and took out a small folded piece of paper. He unfurled it and showed the content to Griffin: a couple of tiny pink pills. Keith took them, put them on his tongue, and leaned in to kiss the other man. He put aside his revulsion of kissing knowing this was the kind of thing that idiot would like. He shoved his tongue and the pills into Griffin’s mouth, who swallowed obediently. As if this were some kind of authorization, he reached up and carded his fingers through Keith’s hair. He tugged at the strands to pull them closer. Keith couldn’t stop himself from moaning at the tug on his scalp. He grinded his hips against Griffin’s, once again feeling his hard dick. The ecstasy he’d just slipped him would enhance every touch and, if Keith were lucky, make him finish much faster. If he were unlucky, it would give him a boost of energy and Keith would be here for the whole bloody night.

Luck wasn’t on his side apparently. Griffin ran his hands down Keith’s back to squeeze his butt, tugging their hips closer. He whined inside Keith’s mouth—he was so hard wearing his pants must be getting painful. He pushed Keith to the side, shoving him on his back on the couch. Griffin was on him again before he had time to blink, kissing his mouth, his chin, his cheeks, down his throat. He left bites on his neck, tugging the collar of his jacket out of the way. Keith didn’t really like being on his back like that, but he didn’t say so. He let Griffin kiss him, humming once in a while in encouragement. His mind worked as his body went through the routine of appearing interested. He charged extra for kissing and for being on his back, and he knew Griffin had the money to pay up. He also had to add the price of the pills. If things continued that way, this annoying experience could prove lucrative.

He took off his jacket when prompted. Griffin was looking wrecked already, hair mussed and cheeks red and lust burning in his eyes. He didn’t seem able to keep his hands off Keith—always touching and caressing even as he sat up to remove his jacket. He let his hands trail down Keith’s legs, eyes following the movement eagerly. Keith toed off his boots and planted one of his naked foot on Griffin’s crotch. He hissed at the contact, body shivering from head to toe. Keith quirked an eyebrow at that. He slowly moved his foot in a small circle, observing the other man’s reactions. Griffin was panting harshly. His cock kept twitching under Keith’s toes. He looked up from Keith’s foot to his eyes and there was a sort of adoration mingled with lust in there. Keith could punch him and the sick fuck would be thankful. It didn’t matter. He hadn’t expected Griffin to come merely from a footjob and not to come in his pants either. His breathing hitched in his throat, the only indication that he’d just finished.

Except the dick beneath his foot was still hard.

Fucking ecstasy.

Griffin leaned over Keith, hands firmly planted on each side of his head. He was panting hard, his breath smelling like whatever pricey alcohol he’d been drinking before getting up here. He kept quiet, just looked into Keith’s face. He seemed to be trying to gather his bearings. The kiss that followed was tender, gentle, the kind of kiss one reserved for a lover. Keith fumbled—he didn’t know how to kiss like that. He just wished Griffin would get on with fucking him.

He didn’t, the bastard. Normally, clients didn’t care much for his pleasure. They only cared about their own release, his own be damned. Griffin wasn’t like that. He was gentle, touching every inch of his skin with reverence, kissing every spot and every scar. It was overwhelming. Keith allowed it, thinking of the money that would come with it. Griffin helped him out of his clothes, admiring him.

As for himself, he didn’t even bother removing his own jacket or tie. Keith touched him through the fabric, feeling lithe muscles over his arms and chest. Nothing impressive, just all right. Griffin seemed to like that, to like being touched in return. Keith mimicked his movements, trying to be gentle even if he wished they would get this over with. Griffin took his sweet time preparing him, using one then two then three fingers, not caring that Keith had already done all that at home in case this should happen. He didn’t shove himself in afterward—he went inch after inch slowly, savouring the sensation. Keith’s breath was starting to get ragged by then. He didn’t like feeling pleasure during his encounters with clients. He was usually able to keep a cool head, to angle his hips in a way so he only felt pressure rather than pleasure. Griffin would have none of that. He gripped his hips firmly after he’d made him cry out in pleasure, keeping him in place, reaching for that spot again. Keith threw his head back as he gasped, unable to stop himself. His world spun as Griffin panted over him, pressing his face into Keith’s sweaty neck.

“Call me daddy, please,” Griffin begged almost desperately.

Keith obeyed, wrapping his arms around his neck and breathing that word into Griffin’s ear. It worked like a charm. Griffin came instantly, groaning as if his release pained him. Keith sighed—he finished himself off quickly while the other man was too busy coming down from his high to notice.

“Shit, what did you give me?” Griffin asked, looking down at himself. He was still hard. “Keith?”

“Ecstasy. I didn’t think it would… do that.”

“W-what?”

Keith pushed him off and sat up. “Don’t fret, I’ll take care of it.” He grinned wickedly. “Daddy.”

-

Keith had expected to just go home after that. After he’d finally managed to get Griffin to calm down—he was never giving any kind of drug to anybody else—it was nearing morning. They sat there on the couch in the private lounge, regaining their breath after getting dressed. Keith felt sticky—he just wanted to go home and shower. Griffin had other plans however. He was hungry, he declared, and he wanted Keith to accompany him for breakfast. Stupid munchies. Keith nearly refused before thinking, eh, why not, free food. He texted Lance and the others, telling them to leave without him. As it turned out, Lance had spent the night with two girls in a hotel room, Panchito had passed out in the bathroom of the club, and Hunk and Pidge had left a long time ago. Keith hoped Hunk wasn’t too traumatised by what he’d witnessed.

The music downstairs had long since been turned off. The dancers had been kicked out and the employees of the club were mopping up the mess. With the lights on, the place looked like a warzone. The floor was sticky with spilled liquor and other weird substances. A few people lay sprawled here and there, unconscious or sleeping. No doubt the goons would soon drag them out so the club could be locked for the day. Griffin observed this all with a disdainful curl of his lip. He walked gingerly, groaning as his priceless shoes stuck to the grimy floor. Keith pointed out that he didn’t look much better than those passed-out folks: he was green in the face, his hair was mussed, his eyes were red, and his suit was wrinkled. He’d even had to abandon his underwear in the lounge because it was too icky to wear. Griffin merely threw him an annoyed look at this. He was back to being difficult after he’d gotten off, Keith noticed. It didn’t matter—Griffin was honest if nothing else: he’d wired the money owed without fuss, never asking if the price he was paying was correct. It was, because Keith also was honest. Tricking clients was never the smart thing to do. Griffin could check if he’d been robbed and Keith would have no way of justifying his attitude. He especially didn’t want to get on the bad side of someone rich and powerful who could do a lot of trouble.

They stood for a moment on the sidewalk, breathing in air that didn’t smell like alcohol. The sun was rising, hidden behind a thick veil of clouds. The day promised to be gray and rainy, the norm for Neo-Metropolis. Griffin contemplated the shoddy buildings around the club with disapproval. There was nobody about at this hour, not even drunks or junkies. The streets were very peaceful, the silence broken only by the very quiet hum of the skymetro rushing overhead. Keith breathed deeply, relishing the silence after the throbbing music of the club. He hated loud noises and it made him wonder if he were getting old.

Keith tugged Griffin further down the street towards a 24/7 diner.

“It’s the only place open at this hour,” he said when the other protested. “Do you really think any fine restaurant would welcome us looking as we do now?”

Griffin scowled but said nothing. He kept glancing around, looking worried. Keith didn’t know if he were afraid of getting jumped or being recognized. He didn’t comment on the odd behaviour. Upper towners were always scared of being mugged whenever they visited so Griffin’s attitude wasn’t that surprising.

The inside of the diner was grimy and smelled of greasy food. Since Keith visited the place often, he was a known face. The alien waitress waved at him cheerily and bid him sit by the bay window. She glanced at Griffin when she handed him a tablet with the menu on the screen without commenting. The three other patrons didn’t look in their direction. All of them looked to be ordinary folk on their way to work, getting a quick breakfast before the day began. Keith ordered black coffee for them both when he saw that Griffin was looking too ill-at-ease to order. He didn’t seem to like an alien talking to him. Except for the Galras, most of the aliens lived in low town, after all. Those who lived on the other side of the bridge didn’t mix with the humans, sticking to their own. Keith didn’t think an Earthling could walk into a restaurant owned by another species and vice-versa. Good—he was liking throwing Griffin off kilter. It was nice seeing him struggle to keep his expression composed as he took in his surroundings. To be honest, the diner wasn’t that bad. It was old, well taken care of. The floors had been scrubbed. The tabletops were clean as was the cutlery. There was no dust anywhere. The coffee, when it came, tasted natural enough, not the cheap chemical kind that could be found in the poorest neighbourhoods of low town.

“How did you end up here?” Griffin asked after taking a careful sip of his beverage.

Keith dumped two packets of sugar into his mug that he stirred lazily with his butter knife. He observed the other man for a few moments, debating how to answer.

“So we’re friends exchanging about our life now?” he said.

“We’re not friends! I’m just… curious.”

“I lived on the streets for a while before I met my friend, who took me in—Lance Álvarez . We were in high school together.”

Griffin’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Álvarez ?! That dumb Cuban guy who failed almost every one of his exams?!”

Keith bristled. “Shut up, Griffin! Lance might not be the sharpest tool in the box, he’s still the best person I know! I’d be dead if it wasn’t for him and his family!”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just… surprising? You were so smart in school, I thought you’d have preferred to hang out with smart people.”

A snort. “When you’re at your lowest, you don’t ask for an IQ test when someone offers to help. Moron. Your privilege’s showing.”

Griffin looked offended at that. “It’s not because my parents are rich that I’m not nice.”

“Says the guy who used to bully me constantly.”

A wince. “L-look, I already apologized for that, all right? I was an ass, but I changed.”

“How? You give money to the poor instead of throwing dirt at them like you used to? Sorry for not quite believing you, Griffin.” Keith groaned. “Why are we even talking? I accepted to have breakfast with you just so you’d pay.”

“I—I, erm, I see. I just wanted to be polite. I thought you liked me.”

Keith stared at him in disbelief. “Where in hell did you get such an idea?!”

“You seemed to like me well enough when we were… you know—“

“Fucking? Bloody hell, you really fit the stereotype of the stuck up rich kid. I liked the dick in me. It wouldn’t have mattered if the dick had been yours or Emperor Zarkon’s. I’m paid to like this, in case you had forgotten.”

Griffin spluttered, face reddening. He was given a few seconds of mercy when the waitress came back to take their order. Once again, Keith ordered for them both, choosing the most expensive breakfast on the menu. She smiled knowingly at him before leaving.

“No, I don’t like you,” Keith said, resuming their conversation. “Don’t feel too bad—I don’t like any of my clients.”

“Maybe I could change your opinion of me? We could hang out sometimes.”

Keith heaved a sigh. He leaned in, face serious. “ _No_. We’re both busy with our lives. You can schedule an appointment with me if you like, that’s it.”

Griffin said nothing, looking crestfallen. Keith rolled his eyes—urgh, did he hate when clients got too attached. It happened sometimes. Keith didn’t know why, he hadn’t managed to pinpoint yet why some clients fell in love with him simply because he’d slept with them. It didn’t make sense to him.

“I was very sad when you got expelled,” Griffin continued.

“You were sad only because I’d sucked your dick and you wanted a repeat performance. Unless you were sad because you could no longer bully me?”

“N-no! This is getting ridiculous! Why do you have to talk back?! Why can’t you just believe me?”

“Sorry, _daddy_ , but if you wanted someone meek to nod at everything you say, you should have found yourself someone else.”

Griffin blushed at the nickname. “D-don’t call me that unless we’re alone!”

“Nobody’s listening. These guys have probably heard much worse anyway. I hope you won’t get turned on when your kids start calling you daddy, eh?”

“That’s not even remotely the same thing!”

“I suppose not. Anyway.”

Their breakfast arrived. Keith dug in, the smells of food reminding him suddenly how ravenous he was. Griffin poked at his plate uncertainly before taking a tentative bite. When he didn’t immediately die, he picked up the pace. He ate in a dainty manner, not resting his elbows on the table and primly holding the knife and fork in each hand. He’d even spread the napkin on his lap, as if his suit wasn’t thoroughly ruined already.

“What do you think of Commander Sendak’s claim to the throne?” Griffin asked after a while.

Keith glanced up from his plate to throw him an incredulous look. “What? Politics now? I don’t give a damn who’s our emperor. All I know is that Sendak’s a psycho.”

“He is. My father had to defend him in front of the IAPC. It’s disgraceful.”

For a second, Keith wasn’t sure what he was talking about. He then remembered the broadcast he’d seen at Adam’s about a lawyer defending Commander Sendak and getting him acquitted of all charges. Peter Griffin, that had been the lawyer’s name. Holy crap, so these two were related? Keith sat back, stunned. Of all the human populace, Peter Griffin had to be one of the most powerful men. The Galras respected and trusted him for his peerless knowledge of intergalactic laws. He was some sort of superstar amongst the upper towners. His fees were apparently so exorbitant that only a handful could afford his services. Keith swallowed. There were also stories about Peter Griffin being so favoured by the Galras because he was like them: ruthless, fearless, and unstoppable when he got an idea in his head. Those who went against him called him despicable and capable of bending every law to his favour. He wasn’t a man to cross lightly.

So what about his son? Keith looked at the other man in a new light. He’d always promised himself he’d never get tangled with powerful people. Powerful people didn’t care about little folk like him—they crushed them without a second thought. Was Griffin like that? Had Keith made a mistake by seducing him last night? His breakfast suddenly tasted like ash. He pushed his plate away, disgusted. Shit. If Griffin decided to make life difficult for him, he was in trouble. There was no way Keith could fight against a guy who could ruin him without breaking a sweat. What should he do? He didn’t want to have to bow to Griffin’s every whim from now on, didn’t want to have to pretend to be friendly. Their earlier banter came back to his mind—fuck, had he offended the guy? And what if he had?

“Keith, are you okay? You’ve gone pale.”

“Look—” Better get this straight right away. “I’m sorry if I offended you. This was not my intention. I—“

Griffin’s bitter laugh stopped him. “Oh, right, now that you know who my father is, you’re going to crawl in front of me? Why? You think my dad’s going to send you to prison for giving me some drug?”

“No. I think _you_ might be as twisted as him and send me to jail.”

“I’m nothing like him!” The words resounded in the nearly empty diner. The other patrons turned to glance at them. “I’m nothing like him,” he repeated more softly. “I won’t send you to jail. If you tell me to back off, I will and you’ll never see me again. I just don’t want you treating me differently because of him.”

He sounded so sincere. His whole demeanour was open, like he was begging Keith to understand. Keith didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he should believe the guy to start with.

“Look, my father is a twist, okay? He treats my mother and me like shit. All that matters to him is appearances. He considers me a failure for some reason I still cannot understand. Nothing I do is right to him. He wants to control every tiny aspect of my life. He even screens my friends so I’m not seen with anyone embarrassing. You’ve no idea what he’d do to me if he saw us here.”

“And you’re nothing like him?”

“No, no! I don’t hate poor people like he does. I don’t think they’re beneath us or stupider or worthless. I know half the people he hangs out with are corrupt, that he turns a blind eye to it because it suits him. He hates that I’m not like him, that I have qualms about the way things are run. I hate that the justice system favours the rich and the well-connected. I don’t want to be the kind of lawyer who smoothes the way for high-born blokes when they break the law. Commander Sendak did all those atrocities he’s accused of and, because of some stupid mistake in the filing system, my father got him off like nothing happened.” Griffin reached out and grabbed Keith’s hand. “I’m not like my father, Keith. I won’t hurt you because you talk back to me. In fact, one of the reasons why I came to that club last night was because I wanted to see how it felt to be treated like an ordinary guy by people who don’t know me. I was glad we could banter together, that you didn’t feel the need to mince your words because of who I am. I’ve always liked that about you, Keith. You’re feisty.” He smiled. “And very beautiful.”

Keith looked down where their hands were touching. He didn’t want his opinion to change, but Griffin was making a good case, stupid lawyer. He supposed it could be possible that father and son were different. Still, it mattered little in the end.

“What do you want from me?”

Griffin shrugged. “Nothing. Whatever you’re willing to give. As I said, if you prefer we go our different ways, so be it. I’ll not harass you.”

“You’re weird.”

“Yeah, I suppose I am.”

“Finish your stupid breakfast so we can both go home.”

“I’ve never eaten such odd food. What is that goo supposed to be? It doesn’t look like any vegetable I’ve ever heard of.”

“Daddy, eat your food and shut up.”

Griffin’s eyes flashed. “Get under the table and suck my dick.”

Keith quirked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve heard me.”

“That’ll cost you.”

“I’m rich, I don’t care.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -Keith has sex with an alien  
> -Tentacles are involved

For days after his encounter with James Griffin, Keith kept expecting to be jumped by goons hired by the guy’s father. Griffin had made it very clear that his father would never approve of his son sleeping with a low-town whore, and Keith had a pretty good idea of what happened to the folk Peter Griffin didn’t like. When nothing happened, he relaxed. He told Lance about what had happened at the club, and they both had a good laugh at Griffin’s lovesick attitude. Lance asked about the guy’s talent in bed, to which Keith responded that it was okay and the ordeal had been made that much more bearable thanks to Griffin’s handsome face. To which Lance pouted. And Griffin’s bottomless wallet. Lance looked even more crestfallen. He even went for the puppy eyes, forcing Keith to admit that he still preferred Lance to anyone else, handsome face and huge wallet notwithstanding.

Except Shiro, of course, but Shiro was simply in another category altogether. Keith would have loved him even if he’d been a dirt-poor gremlin-faced dwarf. Which he thankfully wasn’t.

Keith barely saw him in the following weeks. They talked on the phone often, more often than they used to. Keith got the feeling that Shiro needed to talk, needed to vent about the stressful political situation on the other side of the bridge. He didn’t complain—he adored listening to the other man’s voice, watching his face on the small holoscreen of the PDA. Despite those calls being pleasant, it warned Keith that things might have become more strained between Adam and Shiro. Normally, Shiro would run to his ex for comfort and advice. If he called Keith instead, it meant that Adam was off limits. Keith didn’t inquire: Shiro would pretend everything was all right and Adam would tell him to mind his own business.

Other than that, Keith barely sensed that things had changed in the empire. They kept the telly turned off because they were tired of hearing about the succession. Half the time, the news channels were taken over by Prince Lotor trying to sell himself as the new Emperor. Day in and day out he bitched his father, calling him cruel and heartless, saying that Sendak wasn’t much better. He never actually said how he planned to win the throne for himself—it was as if the citizens of the Galra Empire would vote for their favourite candidate.  The strongest man would take the throne, so it was weird that Lotor tried to ingratiate himself that much. Lance seemed to particularly hate the prince. He groaned every time he saw him on telly, saying he wouldn’t trust the guy as far as he could throw him. They were all the same to Keith—he just wished they’d get over this squabble so the world could just move on.

Pidge and Hunk fully took possession of the plant not long after. The employees who worked there were amicable—they didn’t care that two guys took over some of their workplace once in a while. They’d already been bought so there was no chance they’d breathe a word of what was truly happening. They cooked the first batch of REM with the new addictive agent Ineverium. The results were lukewarm—Pidge wasn’t satisfied with it and threw it away, much to their chagrin. Lance allowed it. He didn’t want to sell a subpar product and he trusted Pidge and Hunk to do better next time. It didn’t really matter for the moment because his business rested on the more popular, conventional drugs, not on the REM.

Once in a while, Lance mentioned Allura. He knew this subject annoyed Keith to no end, so he kept his thoughts on it to a minimum. Still, he sometimes wondered out loud if Allura and her people were all right and how things were going underground. Keith had heard him discussing this with Hunk. He’d hoped Lance’s infatuation with Allura would disappear over time. The woman’s difficult situation seemed to make her all the more attractive to him. Lance wanted to play the knight in shining armour and Hunk wasn’t much better than him. Whenever they started fantasizing about saving their newest crushes, Keith and Pidge would roll their eyes at each other, making Keith glad at least she was still sane.

The biggest change in Keith’s life was James Griffin. He became a regular client, booking him at least once a week. When he did, it was for the whole night and early morning. Griffin didn’t just want to  _ fuck _ . He liked cuddling and kissing and taking him out for breakfast afterwards. It was a new, weird experience for Keith who was more used to a couple of hours with a client before being on his way. He didn’t know whether he liked this. Griffin wasn’t as he remembered—he had matured into a genuinely good guy. He was awkward though and his mood swings made him difficult to predict. He seemed to expect Keith to comfort him if he’d had a rough day. At times, he wanted Keith to be submissive and at other times, he wanted the exact opposite. He paid well, at least, even giving extras and tips. He’d also subscribed to Keith’s blog, although he’d yet to make a request there. Keith still had a hard time liking him—every time they were together, he kept remembering how much of an ass Griffin had been when they were in high school. He didn’t want the guy to grow more attached than he already was, but refusing to do business with him would have been stupid. Thanks to the lovey-dovey attitude, he was a safe client who paid on time and who didn’t have requests that were too weird.

He got his first, truly unsettling request nearly a month after he’d met Griffin again at the club. The notification popped on his calendar, as always, and he perused it distractedly to see what the person wanted. This was a new client who wished to book him for the whole night. Keith frowned at that—a whole night deal usually involved more than sex. It meant the client wished to talk or cuddle or other such things Keith wasn’t comfortable with. This was the kind of stuff level-two prostitutes attended to. He sucked at small talk and couldn’t bring himself to care about what a client had to say. On the other hand, a full night was considered five hours, which was damnably lucrative.

He nearly accepted on that alone. Then his thumb froze over the button  _ accept _ . Clients who scheduled time with him could write a message on their application—an introduction or a question so there would be no ambiguities. The guy had taken the time to introduce himself. Keith had skimmed over the text quickly until his eyes zeroed on the word ‘alien’. He blinked. He then read the text properly. Holy shit. The guy requesting a night with him wasn’t a human. What the hell was he thinking? It was written black on write on his profile that he didn’t do interspecies. The guy—the alien—had certainly seen it because he wrote that he was willing to pay ten thousand credits  _ for the privilege of sleeping with you _ . Keith stared. Nope, his eyes weren’t misleading him—ten thousand credits to sleep with him. That was what he earned in half a year. And he could make it in one single night. The price was merely to sleep with an alien.

Keith didn’t accept at first. He spent half the day agonizing over his dilemma. Money wasn’t the only thing weighing in the balance. Humans did consort with other species even if it was frowned upon. Prostitutes who did so were of class-four or –five. Those of upper classes weren’t allowed to have interspecies sex. If the authorities found out about this, Keith could lose his status. He’d be forever banned from applying for a class-three license. It was also the danger of the thing. Aliens were of different morphology. Some, like the Galra, resembled humans enough that rapprochements between the two races was possible. Others were so different that a human looking at them couldn’t comprehend how their body worked. Keith supposed that this particular alien  _ knew _ he was human and that it had come to conclusion that their bodies were compatible.  _ How  _ compatible was another matter entirely. He’d heard horror stories of prostitutes getting entangled in weird shit with aliens which had resulted into hospitalisations, or worse.

But damn wasn’t that amount of money attractive.

When he talked about this with Lance, he got the expected reaction: outrage. Lance got into a long, long tirade about how accepting such a request was the dumbest thing Keith could ever do. He brought good arguments and his concern for Keith’s safety was touching. So he listened, all the while thinking about the cash. Ten thousand credits. It was a whole damn lot. Enough to pay rent for a whole year. Enough not to have to worry about the costs of his license. Enough to get out of the city for a while, perhaps rent a small house in the desert just to get away from everything else. It was always good to have some money stashed away anyway. Despite knowing he had a good amount put away for rainy days, he’d feel safer with more. What if something happened to him tomorrow? What if he lost his good looks and could no longer work? What if he broke a leg and had to stay at home for weeks, unable to help Lance with the drug? Hell, what if  _ Lance _ got hurt and could no longer work for a while? Or forever?

In the end, he accepted.

-

Keith stared at the neon-bright sign of the love hotel with some trepidation. Telling himself this was just another ordinary call wasn’t cutting it. He knew this was different, this was something he hadn’t tried before. Interspecies sexual relationships were frowned upon though not banned nor outlawed. There were plenty mixed-race children to testify to that running amuck in the streets of Neo-Metropolis. Keith himself had never been with an alien before though. He’d only been with male humans and it had been fine enough with him. And then this offer had come—some guy from some weird alien species was willing to part with ten thousand credits to spend the night with him.  _ Ten thousand credits! _ This roughly amounted to what he earned in half a year! He hadn’t accepted right away, of course not. Keith wasn’t greedy or green enough to jump on an offer that had to be too good to be true. He’d had Lance’s team check the guy’s background and credentials: everything had checked out. The alien with some unpronounceable name was from planet Kaax'oits, a tiny, barely-heard-of place that wished to sign a trading treaty with the Galrans on Earth. They were a secretive people so Keith hadn’t been able to find out much about them, especially about what they looked like. The only few pictures available on the intergalactic channels had been too blurry to give him any good idea. Still, he’d decided to accept the offer, if only to see what would happen. Lance had been against it, but Lance was overly protective sometimes and Keith was old enough to know what he was doing.

Not to say that he wasn’t nervous nonetheless. He’d heard horror stories from other street walkers, men and women who’d accepted to be with an alien, only to be dragged into some weird shit. He’d never heard of any of them  _ dying _ , which he knew meant little in itself. Nobody mourned the death of a whore so when one disappeared, it was barely whispered about. Keith wasn’t like them though—he wasn’t some defenseless idiot who walked into unknown territory with his guard down. He’d dealt with plenty of human assholes so he liked to think he was ready to deal with an alien asshole too.

He took his PDA out of his jacket pocket to text Lance. This was the standard procedure they’d established when Keith started seeing clients—he would report in before seeing the guy and the second he got out. If, three hours after the first text Lance hadn’t received a second one, he’d text himself. If there was no response, he’d gather his goons and head for the location where Keith was meeting his client. It had never come to that, thankfully. Keith had had to punch his way out of some bastards’ clutches, but he’d been more than able to do it on his own. Still, a tiny part of himself found this system reassuring. It was always nice knowing Lance had his back.

With this done, Keith walked into the hotel. Like most of those establishments, it was run by an AI. There was no actual staff, only holograms except for those few paid to clean the rooms once a day. The hologram standing behind the counter was of impressive quality. Anyone would have been fooled into thinking this was a real person, a rare thing for this corner of the city. Keith went to the desk and showed his PDA upon which his calling card had been downloaded. On it was a confirmation of his identity and proof that a client of the hotel had really required his services. It took less than three seconds for this to be confirmed, giving him ample time to give the place a cursory glance. This was a bit more high-class than he was used to, though not enough to make him feel awkward. He easily spotted the niches cleverly hidden in the ceiling that certainly hid guns ready to fire on any unwanted guests. AI-run love hotels were not to be taken lightly.

His PDA was handed back to him by the smiling hologram. It waved its hand towards a door that lead to the second floor and it told Keith that his client was waiting for him in room twenty-two. Keith nodded and went to the staircase. He was feeling a bit apprehensive now. There was no turning back—he’d never backed out of a deal and he wasn’t about to start today. He kept his mind focused on the money he’d get out of this. Really, how hard could it be to let some alien fuck him? Who knew, maybe it would actually be fun, not that he expected it—clients rarely cared to give pleasure, they were much too busy demanding it.

He paused in front of the door leading to room twenty-two long enough to take a deep breath. He refused to acknowledge his madly-beating heart, fast breaths, and weak knees as he knocked. Best get this over with. He told himself that, if anything happened, Lance would come to his rescue, that of course the alien would wait the customary three hours before trying to strangle him or—

“Come in.”

Keith jumped at the voice. Was this fear that made it so hard to swallow? It had to be. He shoved it down furiously, suddenly angry at himself for being such a coward. There was nothing to be afraid of. He was tough, he was strong, he had a knife hidden in his boot that he knew how to use, so everything would be fine. He pushed the door and walked in, refusing to remain frozen in the corridor.

The inside of the room was dim, so much that Keith had difficulties seeing the furniture. The thick curtains had been pulled over the large windows, blocking the light from the streets. Only a dim glow came from beneath the closed door of the bathroom to his right, a bar of brightness that illuminated nothing more than the motifs of the carpet.

The sound of breathing told him there was another occupant in the room. It came from further in, to the left of the bed where he thought there might be a desk. For some reason, this struck him as logical since the guy was a sort of envoy—it had to be working. Keith lingered by the door a few seconds, giving his eyes time to adjust. He sensed nothing alarming, which served to soothe him minutely.

“Come closer.”

Keith obeyed, shuffling his feet carefully so he wouldn’t bump into anything. As he did so, he mulled over the voice. It came slightly distorted, the sound teeny, telling him that the guy used a translator, probably the high-tech type that plugged directly into the brain. He stood there, unmoving, by what he supposed was the foot of the bed. He sensed the guy’s attention on him. If they kept the lights off, this might help. It was possible that the alien had perfect night vision, after all, something Keith hadn’t considered. He’d heard that some of them didn’t even have eyes, living off their other senses.

“You’re very pretty,” the alien said. “Much more than I was lead to believe.”

“Thanks.”

The translator did such a great job that Keith almost believed he was talking to another human being.

“May I call you Keith?”

“Sure.” He added because he knew clients liked that even though he didn’t give a damn: “And what should I call you? Your name’s a mouthful.”

“Worlyeingkimight Awtaioldengu.”

It took Keith a second to realise that the garbled sounds that just came from the alien had to be its name. Crap, did it want him to call it that?! He opened his mouth to protest when another sound reached his ears: low and choppy. What the hell was that? Heart hammering, he forced himself to be calm, not to get overwhelmed by the darkness and unknown. As soon as he calmed down, he made sense of it: laughter. The guy was laughing at him. He didn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved. This would be a long, long night.

“You can call me Wor, Keith. As you say, my first name is quite a mouthful, and I have six others that follow. Now, I just want to make something clear. I can sense that you’re nervous so I want you to know that you have nothing to be afraid of. I have absolutely no intention of harming you in any way. I wish this encounter to be pleasant for the both of us. For this to happen, I have to warn you that my… biology is very different from yours, which is why I elected to keep the room dark. I thought this might be easier on you. I see perfectly in the dark, by the way. Allow me to tell you just a tiny bit about my race. To put it into terms that you would understand, we from Kaax'oits have genders, just as you do here on Earth. They are different, but not that much. We are built differently from humans, but our way of reproducing isn’t dissimilar either, which is why I know an encounter between the two of us is possible. However, I must warn you that our period of arousal is much, much longer than that of a human. We also possess more… appendages than the human male. All of them are sentient and capable of pleasure. For us to be truly satisfied, those appendages must reach climax one after the other. It is entirely possible that I tire you out before I can fully finish, and I want you to know that you’ll receive full payment even if this happens. Do you understand?”

Keith reeled too much from all that information to be able to answer right away. First of all, he couldn’t ever remember a client talking to him in such a gentle, soothing tone. The words came smoothly as if spoken by someone who’d grown up next door, not by an alien using a translator. Second, he hadn’t expected to be given any explanation. He thought he’d just have to react, adapt on the spot to whatever was coming. He didn’t know whether this made him feel better or worse. And third, and probably the worst, had the guy just said he had  _ many appendages _ ? What did he mean by appendages, exactly? Did he mean like had ten arms or three heads or was he referring to his dick? Dick _ s _ ?

He felt weak in the knees.

“Oh, dear,” the alien continued, voice low and almost crooning. “I scared you.”

“I’m not scared!” Keith retorted, stung. “I’m just processing!”

“If you wish to leave, I won’t hold you back. I will even give you a tenth of what was owed, for your troubles, and for allowing me to see that beautiful face.”

For a split second, Keith almost accepted—a tenth was still one hundred credits, not too bad all things considered. His pride kept him rooted to the spot though. His pride, he scoffed mentally, what was he so damn proud about anyway? He was just another whore amongst a shitload of them. If he turned tail right now, this alien would find itself someone else, some other bloke with a pretty face. But  _ ten thousand fucking credits _ ! Could he really walk away from of a deal like that? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did. Every stupid credit he put aside was one more step towards becoming legit. He had to focus on that.

“I’m staying,” Keith announced firmly. “And I’ll be worth every credit you spend on me.”

Another chopping sound that was a laugh. “Beautiful and courageous, I’m starting to like you very much, Keith. As I said, I have no wish of harming you or scaring you. If this becomes too much, feel free to tell me so and we’ll stop. Don’t look so dubious: I find no pleasure in forcing my partners. Furthermore, I’d love seeing you coming undone under me. Come closer now, if you wish. Careful not to bang your leg against the bed-frame.”

Keith didn’t hesitate this time: he took three steps forward until he was sure he was in front of the alien. There was a peculiar smell about it that he couldn’t place: nothing disgusting or good, just an odd smell that he couldn’t associate with anything he’d ever smelt on Earth. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he could see the silhouette of the alien too. It was large, though not much larger than a big human man. It looked misshapen though, with bumps and ridges where a human would have none. Cloth rustled as it moved. Despite its gestures not being hurried or brisk, Keith still jumped slightly when he felt something cold and slightly slimy against his cheek. His breathing quickened and his heart hammered violently against his ribs. He had to relax or he’d never be able to get through this, not even for a huge sum of money.

The alien’s...  _ hand _ —Keith decided this was its hand—caressed his cheek very gently. The texture of its skin felt scaly, a bit like that of a fish or a reptile. Once past the initial shock of the first contact, he had to admit it wasn’t that bad. Its skin temperature wasn’t that much lower than that of a human being. He could feel no single fingers, so he concluded it just had a sort of hand that stopped at the palm. Judging by the fluidity of the movements, it didn’t appear to have any bone either, just cartilage. It caressed his cheek gently, going from the cheekbone to the line of his jaw then back. Keith caught the distinct impression that it was trying to map his face, as if it couldn’t see as well as it claimed.

“Should I do something?” he asked, unsure.

“No, not yet. I’ll tell you in time what I expect of you. I’d like to be allowed a few more minutes to touch you first.”

“Sure, whatever.”

The not-hand continued its exploration. Done with his face for the moment, it slid through his hair, still gentle. “You are so beautiful,” the alien crooned. “All that silky hair as black as the depths of the universe, so soft and fine like the best cloth money can buy. And that face.” The not-hand went back to his face, tracing his cheeks and nose and chin and eyebrows. Except there were two not-hands now. “Such delicate skin and perfectly shaped skull, like your bones were welded by an artist. No flaw anywhere, even those scars are beautiful and graceful on you.” Down his neck the not-hands went. “No flaw there either, only smooth skin and your racing pulse like that of a scared animal. I might bite you there later if you allow me, not too hard, not too painful, I promise. Just enough to make you feel good.” The not-hands slid under the lapels of his jacket, skillfully pushing it off his shoulders until it slid down his arms to the floor. “Narrow yet strong shoulders. Even the fabric of your shirt feels good. And your chest is exquisite, all soft skin and good muscles. Please, make that gasping sound again when I touch you there? Perfect, I like that. I should have requested you wear a white shirt, darling, and throw some water at you. Perhaps another time, I’ll not forget.” Lower still. “That gorgeous tiny waist, so easy to wrap my arms around, and hips soft enough to grasp without difficulty. You were made for this, you know, Keith? You were made to be on your hands and knees with someone grasping at your hips and giving you as much pleasure as you deserve. Now, take another step closer so I may reach behind. Perfect. May I ask what’s the point of wearing such tight trousers as they leave nothing to imagination? From across the room I could tell how firm and round your arse would feel in my hands, and I wasn’t wrong. You’re strong, your legs are strong—I bet you could ride me for hours without tiring. That’s good, I knew choosing you was a good idea. You don’t need to undo your trousers right away, allow me to feel between your legs for a moment more. I’m glad you’re liking this, Keith. As I said, I want the pleasure to be mutual. Oh, who would have thought even your panting was arousing?”

Keith’s mind could hardly follow all the words. The alien touched him as it talked, all gentle and firm, totally unabashed. It slid one of its hands—there was more than two he was sure—between his legs, caressing, probing, making him gasp. He could feel it move through his pants as it poked at him. He didn’t think he’d ever been this horny this rapidly. This was something else—all the touches and words and compliments and encouragements. There was nothing crass in what the alien murmured. Its tone of voice was conversational, as if they were exchanging pleasantries.

When he felt one of the not-hands against his lips, he parted them without thinking. It slipped effortlessly in, slowly exploring his teeth, his tongue, the insides of his cheeks. The delicate touches only served to arouse him more and he groaned at the back of his throat. He was salivating way too much, saliva dribbling down the corners of his mouth in a way that would embarrass him in any other situation. The not-hand—actually no, it wasn’t a hand, it was one of the appendages the alien had referred to earlier, what passed of one of its dicks—slid further in, slowly going down the back of his throat. Keith was used to guys fucking his mouth without much regard to his comfort, so the gentleness and carefulness confused him. He knew what to do though, knew to breathe through his nose. His gag reflex had long ago been suppressed.

While one of the appendages was slowly fucking his throat, the others had slid around him, pulling him close to what had to be the alien’s body. It didn’t feel human, cool and bumpy as it was, though Keith barely felt any of it. Four or five not-hands or whatever those were had grasped him, touching him in too many places for him to understand. He could hardly think by then, blinded by lust and need and the thought that  _ fuck _ he had to get out of those too-tight pants! One of the not-hands was rubbing his dick steadily through the fabric, the pressure not quite enough to bring him to the edge. Another of the not-hand had actually managed to slip inside his pants—it was snaking its way down his butt and Keith knew without the shadow of a doubt that it would not fuck him, not yet.

A particularly sharp thrust against the back of his throat made him gag. His eyes went wide as the appendage was pulled back and something hot and salty splashed across his face. He winced involuntarily. His hands went to his face as understanding dawned: the alien had just cum.

“I’m sorry,” it said. “I usually have more self-control. I hope you didn’t get any in your eyes.”

Keith shakily wiped his cheeks with the back of one hand. He was still in the embrace of the alien, unable to think straight for everything that was happening at the same time. His mind tried to comprehend while his body just wanted to enjoy the moment. His fear had completely vanished by then, replaced by mere wariness at all these new experiences.

“It’s fine,” he finally managed to say, voice slightly hoarse.

“I’m glad to hear it, darling. You are so beautiful and you were so good, I couldn’t help it. Do you wish us to continue? Do you need a minute?”

He probably would have laughed at all this unnecessary kindness if he hadn’t found it so damn difficult to resist. He was liking kindness, he’d found out.

“It’s fine,” he said again.

“Perfect. Now please, if you would be so kind as to get on your hands and knees on the bed? I think this position might suit my needs best for the moment. Oh, and if you could remove your boots and trousers? Thank you.”

Keith nodded as the not-hands or whatever released him gradually. His legs were shaking ever so slightly, but he managed to toe off his boots and remove his pants nonetheless. The alien had said nothing of his shirt so he kept it on. He wished he could just take it off though: his skin was hot and itchy with need and the fabric chafed horribly. He was painfully hard and he had to resist the urge to touch himself as he positioned himself on the bed as instructed. Arching his back, he threw a look over his shoulder, trying to peer through the darkness at what the alien might be doing. For some insane reason, he had the urge to ask if they could turn on the lights. Keith was finding this being near blind to be more annoying than reassuring. He bit his lip instead—he wasn’t sure enough of the power dynamic between the two of them. He wanted the money, damn it, and he’d never forgive himself if he did something to ruin his chance.

The feel of something cool against the back of his thigh made him jump. The alien was beside the bed, once again close enough to touch. The not-hand caressed the taut skin of his leg gently, feather-like. Keith found it difficult to take in a full breath. Damn it, could the alien get on with it and just fuck him?! This was getting close to torture. He hoped, he really did, that this guy’s kink wasn’t to make him beg. He hated that, hated having to beg and whine and demean himself like a bitch in heat. Some clients got off of that, he knew very well.

The not-hand explored his naked legs for what seemed like forever. Keith gritted his teeth, arms shaking as if he’d been holding that position for hours. His fingers had turned into claws, grasping the fine fabric of the bedsheets in a white-knuckled grip. Sweat beaded on his face, and black strands of hair stuck to his cheeks and to the back of his neck. Amazingly, there were even tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” the alien said gently. “It’s not my intention to torture you. I simply cannot stop touching you. You’re so beautiful like that, Keith. It’s like you were made for this. You’ve been so very good so far, so allow me to help you. We still have a long way to go after all.”

Keith hung his head, allowing his hair to hide his hot face. Somehow he couldn’t take this guy’s compliments. They sounded so bloody genuine, spoken in that soft, gentle voice, like Keith needed to be coddled or he’d break. A sob escaped from his clenched teeth when he felt the appendage run up his thigh towards his butt. It barely paused before it was touching him  _ there _ and he was crying out in relief and anguish. He had to consciously force himself to relax as it slowly slid inside of him, its sliminess negating the need for lube. It felt both cold and warm at the same time. The feeling was totally alien, nothing like he’d ever felt before. The appendage seemed to grow in both length and width, filling him completely until he was sure he couldn’t take anymore. Its ridged texture rubbed against his sweet spot, not quite enough to be satisfactory. It was just there, a pressure, nothing more, not quite what he needed. The appendage then stilled, allowing him to take a breath. Keith realised he was lying on his elbows now, forehead resting against his forearm. He was shaking and he was pretty sure the wetness on his cheeks wasn’t sweat.

Then, it moved inside, and he lost half a second. It was as if his whole world went white. A strangled moan escaped from his throat. His toes curled on the bedsheet and his body went taut. The thrusts didn’t relent, increasing in speed and strength until the bed-frame was slamming loudly against the wall. Words escaped from Keith’s mouth that made no sense to him. Begging and cursing and whining and anything in between, a litany of pleas and gasps that even the most advanced translators couldn’t put into coherent words. There were more of the not-hands or not-arms wrapped around his waist, holding him in the right position, while others pressed between his shoulder blades and a few more kept his thighs spread open.

It couldn’t have lasted more than ten or fifteen seconds. Keith came without having to touch himself, the appendage rubbing his sweet spot more than enough to do the job. He lost another few seconds there, crying and moaning and biting into his arm in some attempt at keeping his dignity. Still, as he came, the alien kept thrusting into him, relentlessly, that same rhythm never once faltering. Keith gasped, grasping the sheets between his fingers, vision blurry, shivering and whining. His insides were over-sensitive now, turning painful, and still it didn’t stop until he thought he’d have to shout at the alien to stop. As it had before, the alien came without warning, spilling what passed for its seed into Keith in a warm, sticky burst. Keith moaned through gritted teeth, unable to stop himself, unable to stop the twinge of renewed arousal that spiked through his spine as seed spilled down his legs.

He collapsed on his belly when the alien let go of him. He was dimly aware of it moving on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath its weight. Keith realised that it wasn’t breathing hard while he was winded, his heart galloping madly inside his chest.

A not-hand carded carefully through his hair, the touch feeling like a question. “Are you all right, beautiful?” the alien asked gently. “I didn’t hurt you, didn’t I?”

“It’s fine,” Keith mumbled, face pressed against the sheet as he tried to catch his breath.

There was a smile in the voice of the alien as it said: “You took me so well, as I knew you would. I wish you could see yourself as I see you right now: satisfied and spent and left wide open with my seed seeping down your thighs… I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight.”

Incredibly, heat rose to Keith’s face. He’d done some pretty nasty things in his life, and yet he’d never come close to being embarrassed. Now, this weird alien was complimenting him and he was blushing? It had to be the voice—all honey and sweet and cajoling. There was nothing crass in the words the alien spoke. It all sounded so… honest, truthful, like it was waxing poetry about a sunset rather than about a common whore.

“Thank you,” was all Keith found to say.

“You are very welcome, darling. Are you ready to go again? Yes? Marvelous. No, don’t try to get on your knees again, I’d like to have you on your back. There you go. That way I’ll get to watch your pretty face.”

Keith allowed the alien to help him roll on his back. He was glad he wouldn’t have to be on his hands and knees again—he wasn’t sure he had enough strength left for that.

When nothing happened for a few moments, Keith knew it was because the alien was watching him. He could feel its gaze on him, hot and wanting, pressing against his skin like a living thing. He had never done well with this, to be honest. It was always weird for him that someone would just gaze adoringly at him, like he was some great thing. He allowed it though, and not only because it would earn him a fortune. The alien had been true to his word since the beginning: it hadn’t brutalized or hurt Keith. In fact, it’d been more than gentle, far more than Keith had expected. If it wanted to look at him for a little longer, he’d allow it.

The alien touched his thighs, pushing them apart further. Keith allowed it, once again glad for the darkness. He was breathing hard, not because of the force of his previous orgasm but from the sheer need he felt coming from the other being. It wanted him and it made him want it in return.

“Touch yourself,” the alien said, its voice breathier. “Show me how you like it done.”

Keith groaned, both in embarrassment and in need. He looked towards the ceiling for a second, trying to get a hold on his fraying mind. The alien remained silent as Keith reached between his legs to grasp at his length. He was once again fully hard, painfully so, and the touch of his hand made him gasp. He had to resist the urge to just finish himself off in a few quick strokes. Instead, he closed his eyes, rested his head on the sweat-soaked pillow, and began stroking himself very slowly. A sob escaped his throat, unchecked. He swore under his breath, focusing. His whole body shook with the need for release. Burning tears ran down his face. His hand on his length trembled as he kept it from moving too fast. It took all his willpower to guide his second hand lower between his thighs, the angle awkward. His fingers touched the mess the alien had left there, still warm and slick and making it oh so easy for him to slip two of them inside.

“That’s good,” the alien crooned. “Don’t come just yet, darling. I know you can hold back. Let me watch for a few moments longer.”

Keith could no longer fool himself into thinking he wasn’t crying. Swears and profanities slipped from his lips as his overwrought brain tried to make sense of what was happening. The burning in his belly was becoming unbearable. He wanted to come so much he was ready to beg for it. Despite this, he kept his hands moving as slowly as possible. He arched his back, feet planted firmly on the mattress, head thrown back, mouth opened, eyes screwed shut as tears leaked from the corners.

He was so focused on trying not to come that he didn’t feel the not-hand sliding under his shirt. It wasn’t until it pinched him that he let go. Stars exploded behind his closed eyelids. His spine bowed painfully as a moan was ripped from his throat. He came all over his hand, shaking and whimpering. His mind took the backseat and it allowed his body to just feel.

The alien replaced his fingers by its own parody of a dick and fucked him. Keith lost track of time. He had no idea where he began and where the other ended. Its appendage—no, appendage _ s _ were all over him,  _ inside  _ him. It was huge and powerful as it thrusted mercilessly, all pretense of kindness gone. It was leaning over him now, Keith’s legs thrown over what had to be misshaped shoulders. Keith was almost bent in two, unable to move or meet back the thrusts. He could only lie there and take it. One of the appendages climbed up his chest and delved into his mouth, down his throat where it seemed to want to nestle for the rest of its life. It fucked his throat, seeping pre-cum down his tongue. He moaned around it—he’d have grabbed it if his hands hadn’t been pinned over his head. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe as his body was assaulted from everywhere. Something pressed between his shoulder blades, forcing him to thrust his chest out, and hot saliva dribbled over his sweaty shirt. What had to be a tongue licked at the mess, causing the fabric to rub against already painfully sensitive skin.

Keith came twice after that, then a third time that was no more than a few drops of come. He could only lay there as the alien used him as it willed, body saturated yet still finding some pleasure amongst the pain. The alien came far more often. After it had, it would pull one of its appendages back to replace it with a new one still engorged and needy.

By the time the thrusts relented and slowed, Keith couldn’t think straight. Pleasure and pain blurred in his mind. He was sweaty and sticky and wet, body spent, twitching only once in a while. Even his tears had stopped, as if his subconscious had realised they were superfluous. When the pounding stopped, he felt warm air against his neck. It was his only warning before sharp teeth sank into his skin. He groaned, pushing back against a heaving body that felt anything but human. The alien pulled back, satisfaction oozing off it like perfume. The bite stung, though not enough to alarm Keith. He didn’t have the strength for alarm anyway.

“Good,” the alien murmured, finally sounding tired. “That was good. Darling, you were perfect. Such a responsive, strong body. I knew you could take it all.”

“How… how long has it been? I need to… my GPA… I have to…”

“Hush, don’t fuss. I understand. Let me help you.”

The mattress dipped as the alien got off the bed. Keith dimly heard it rummage through his discarded clothes and, soon, the familiar smooth form of his GPA was slipped into his hand. His fingers shook as he typed, the backlight of the screen hurting his eyes. He texted Lance, told him he was all right, and then dropped the thing back to the floor. A minute, he just needed a minute to gather his wits. Then he’d shower and go. His legs would have to carry him one way or the other.

“Are you all right?” the alien asked.

“Yes,” Keith breathed.

“I’m sorry you’re in pain, darling. I’d suggest that you spend the night, but I can tell it’s not your style. Would you allow me to help you bathe, though? This might soothe you a little. And then I’ll call a cab for you. I’m not letting you take the skymetro in that state. You’ll sleep much better in your own bed tonight.”

And, wonders of wonders, the alien did just that. It helped Keith up, carried him to the bathroom, washed his painful, overused body in the dark, and then helped him gently back into his clothes. Keith could hardly stand on his own two feet, exhausted and hurting and mind blank. He didn’t protest, not even when the alien did something that felt like a kiss on his bruised lips.

He lost track of time for a while, and it wasn’t until someone started shaking him that he startled out of his slumber. He saw, looming over him, Lance’s worried, pallid face. The man’s blue eyes were huge and, for the first time since this had begun, Keith wondered at the mess he must be. He realised he’d fallen asleep on the backseat of the cabbie, and the guy had been kind enough to knock at the door of the address given to him by the alien when Keith wouldn’t wake up.

“I’m fine,” Keith mumbled, voice hoarse, throat hurting.

Lance helped him out of the cab after paying the driver handsomely. He had no memory of reaching his bed or falling back asleep.

The next morning when he woke up, aches and everything else be damned, he checked his bank account on his PDA and saw that the owed money had been wired.

With a fifty-thousand credits bonus.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -None

Keith’s world changed the day of the explosion. While the whole city changed that day, his life took a drastic, different turn from what he ever thought it could be.  

It was almost a week after his birthday. He’d have kept it quiet except that Lance had considered it his duty to throw a party. They’d ended up at Marco’s club with a few friends, mostly people who worked for Marco and Lance. Hunk had brought a whole cargo of cakes, cookies, muffins, doughnuts, and every other sugary treat he could come up with. Of course, after the party, it had been decided Keith would bring it all home.

He’d been stuffing his face ever since then. He was pretty sure he’d gained five pounds in one week alone from all that rich food. And that didn’t include the huge meal Adam had cooked for him when he’d invited him over for supper. And the second huge meal Shiro had treated him to at some fancy restaurant. Keith found it a small miracle his pants still fit him. He wished he’d never told anyone his secret kink was to eat.

So now, that morning, he decided enough was enough. He dressed in gym clothes under Shiro’s warm police jacket and hit the practice hall. The practice hall was the place folks went to when they wanted to learn martial arts. There were a few of those scattered throughout low-town, varying in degree of cleanliness and efficacy. Keith didn’t need to be taught—Shiro had taken care of that when he was twelve, but he needed to practice if he didn’t want to lose his edge. Furthermore, it was good exercise, far more stimulating for him than going to the gym to lift weights.

The practice hall he liked best was situated a few streets away from his flat. It was pretty popular because it had been renovated recently and was surprisingly modern. Keith’s monthly membership was pretty expensive yet worth every penny he invested in it. If he visited early enough, he had one of the rooms all to himself. For an additional fee, he could rent it throughout the day, which he sometimes did when Shiro was in the mood to train with him.

The hall smelled of stale sweat no matter how often the owner scrubbed it. A comically small alien owned the place—Keith had no idea of its species or where it came from. He didn’t even know whether it was male or female. It was almost always there when he visited, standing behind the counter at the front and extending what passed for its hand at the visitors to get paid. The alien resembled a sort of hairy animal with multiple eyes. The colour of its fur was greyish blue, changing depending on the light. It talked in an approximately understandable way, usually grunting or sniffling to get its message through. It looked at Keith from behind the front desk in what had to be a suspicious manner when he pushed the front door. Keith just showed it his PDA so it could see he had a membership—didn’t that thing remember him? He came by almost every day when time allowed it. It made a snorting sound before waving him away.

It was early enough that there were only two or three other people. The large building was divided in many smaller rooms, all of them set up differently to accommodate the user’s needs. Keith chose the last room at the end of the corridor. Inside, there was no furnishing, nothing, except for thin mats on the floor. He’d been thrown to the ground often to know they did very little to soften a hard landing.

At the control panel beside the door, he browsed the training regimens available. He had to start slow today—he could still feel at the back of his throat the remaining piece of cake he’d eaten yesterday. The last thing he needed was to throw up—the owner would use him to wipe his floor otherwise. He chose at random, setting the difficult level at five. He won at six most of the time, and seven was accessible if he really put his mind to it. Above that was a sure way to get his ass kicked. He’d witnessed Shiro destroy the training holograms at level ten and it had been like watching some action movie. Keith could only hope to reach that level of mastery one day.

He stretched while the training program loaded. Shimmering blue lights on every flat surface came to life as a hologram appeared in the middle of the room. Vaguely human-shaped, it had two arms, two legs, and a head. It could take different forms. Keith preferred to focus on the humans since it was usually with them he had trouble.

Once he was ready, he said  _ go _ and the program started. The hologram, perfectly solid, approached him cautiously, fists held loosely at chest level. Keith mimicked its pose as his eyes trailed its every movement. He stood on the ball of his feet, never resting his weight on his heels not to be caught flat-footed. It was all pretty basic stuff that had taken Shiro a long time to hammer in. Now, it was second nature to Keith. He read his opponent’s first move in its body language. A kick that he blocked with his forearm. The pain jarred him, reminding him that he should attend the training hall every day. Skipping one week was enough to put him back for months.

To win this round, he had to land three blows on the hologram. It took far longer than it should have. He kept missing the openings, his hand or foot not quite fast enough to reach. By the time ten minutes had flown by, he was breathing hard and sweating. He dampened the frustration growing in his chest—he had to be patient, wait for the right time to strike. He remembered too easily all the times he’d been knocked to the ground because of his hastiness. Shiro had been his teacher, but he’d put him through simulations with holograms like this and, when Keith had gotten his butt kicked for being too hasty, he’d watched impassively from the sidelines. How Shiro could be the gentlest guy ever while being the meanest teacher, Keith didn’t know. Shiro had never indulged him and Keith had never give him any excuses.

Focusing, Keith saw it: the opening he’d been looking for. The hologram’s whole foot was resting on the ground. He went for it, fist raised, obliging it to lean back to avoid the punch aimed at its face. Instead of following the movement, Keith dropped and swiped his leg at the hologram’s back ankle. It lost its footing and fell backward. Keith threw himself at it, this time actually punching it.

A beep resounded: he’d won. He got to his feet as the hologram dematerialised. He wasn’t happy with this—this was a level-five training, he should have gone through it much more easily. He’d been neglecting the training too often. Shiro wouldn’t approve.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and started the program again. And again.

He was on his sixth try when the world titled. Keith was thrown to the ground painfully hard as the room around him began to shake. Gasping, he looked around him. The walls were trembling and the floor beneath him bucked. A loud, rumbling noise filled his ears. He knew what this was, remembered it very well from last time. Another earthquake.

Barely able to keep his feet, he threw himself at the door, pulling it open with panic-fuelled strength. The whole building shook around him, groaning in its foundations. Cracks were appearing in the walls and floor as plaster fell from the ceiling in big chunks. He had to lean on the wall as he made his way toward the exit, hoping that the whole thing wouldn’t collapse on his head. The shaking made him feel light-headed. A cloud of dust, raised by the falling pieces of plaster, made it difficult to see and breathe. He heard shouts and screams as the other visitors of the training hall rushed out. Keith focused his attention on the exit door that looked to be getting farther and farther. He coughed, swearing under his breath.

Outside, things weren’t much better. As he watched, one apartment tenements tilted drunkenly to one side before collapsing, raising a cloud of dark dust. The pavement beneath his feet undulated, splitting open in places. Keith had absolutely no idea what to do. He stood there, terrified, looking around wildly to find some cover. People were running in every direction, screaming, their faces covered with soot, their clothes torn. The loud rumbling noise didn’t abate, making it difficult to think. He wanted to curl into a ball somewhere until it all calmed down. He remembered the last time it had happened, how a piece of the Fightdome wall had fallen on Lance and him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a huge gust of flame shooting towards the sky. It lit the whole area in a bright red glow. The concussion that followed threw him to the ground again and a wave of heat instantly dried the sweat on his skin. He laid there, panting, terrorised, sure that the world was ending. His disjointed thoughts ran like headless chickens inside his brain. He tried to remember where Lance was supposed to be, hoped his friend was all right.

When the trembling lessened, he got to his feet shakily. His elbows and palms were scraped from his ungraceful fall. He looked in the direction from which the gust of flame had appeared. Wasn’t that where the Fightdome had once stood? Dread curled in Keith’s guts. Allura. The Alteans and the Balmerans. Whatever had happened came from the direction of the trapdoor through which the mines could be reached. He had a sick feeling and the image of people crushed beneath the falling ceiling of caves flashed through his mind.

Not thinking, Keith ran in the direction of the Fightdome. His legs were wobbly and the unsteady ground made it difficult. That didn’t stop him. Something pulled him in that direction. Everywhere around him, people were screaming and crying. Buildings had collapsed. Mangled corpses lined the road. Fires had spread and water sprayed from cracked underground pipes. It was utter chaos. Shit, shit, he hoped Lance and his family were all right. He couldn’t tell if their neighborhood had been touched by the explosion. It was difficult to see with that much dust hanging in the air. Twice, he had to stop to catch his breath amidst coughing fits. His lungs burned and his eyes kept tearing up. This was madness, why was he rushing over there? He should be trying to find out if his family was all right, he should—he shook his head. Lance would be there, at the Fightdome. Keith knew it as much as he knew his own name. Lance had seen the explosion and fire and, just like him, he’d put two and two together.

Long before he reached the right neighbourhood, Keith had to slow down. The ground beneath his feet was uneven, cracked. Huge holes had opened into the asphalt, revealing old, rusty pipes and other debris that had been buried ages ago. Whole edifices had crumbled upon themselves like wet paper. Smoke hung thick here. There were scorch marks on some surfaces. Some facades had been blackened completely. Here too people were panicking, running each way, asking for help. This was the neighbourhood inhabited by the race of alien called Arusians, a diminutive specie with little enough in common with the humans. The little creatures were wailing in despair, calling to some god or another for help. Covered in dirt, they dug in the rubbles trying to find loved ones that might have been buried. Keith’s heart stuttered in his chest at the pitiful sight. Once in a while, he stopped to lend a hand—as a human he was bigger, taller, and stronger than the Arusians which helped when moving rocks. The heartfelt hugs he got in thanks were worth his bloodied and scraped knuckles.

Keith stopped walking to stare wide-eyed at what was in front of him. Or, more precisely, what  _ wasn’t _ in front of him. The road just stopped there at the edge of a gaping hole. On every side, dwellings and constructions had fallen in. It looked as if a giant alien had stomped down hard enough to cave the ground in. Keith didn’t dare move closer, afraid the ground beneath his feet would give way. From what he could see, the hole opened on subterranean galleries and tunnels. The scent of damp earth wafted off the crack in an odour that reminded him of a tomb. This was it, this was where Allura and her people had been hidden for so long. There was no hiding it anymore. Already, some folks were craning their neck, trying to see inside.

He took out his PDA that he’d tucked into the waistband of his pants and texted Lance. He distractedly spotted a crack on the screen—he didn’t have time to contemplate it that his friend was texting him back. Keith only felt dim amusement at the fact that he’d been right: Lance was indeed rushing here, certainly already imagining himself as Allura’s knight in shining armour.

A few chunks of pavement fell into the hole when people got too close and, without thinking, Keith told them to move aside. He didn’t understand why they were obeying so readily at first until he noticed the uncertain looks they threw at him. Looking down at himself, he realised that he was still wearing Shiro’s jacket, the one with the lettering  _ police _ visible in white against black on the back. They thought he was a policeman. Shit, he’d been lucky not to get mugged on his trek here. Catastrophe or no catastrophe, this part of town wasn’t safe for the police force.

He removed the jacket, shook it firmly to dislodge dust, and put it back on. He had no time reflecting on the fact that he must look ridiculous with a coat two sizes too big for him. He ushered people away from the hole, not wanting to see them plunging to their death. Doing so brought him close to the edge himself and his treacherous eyes glanced into the gaping breach. He blinked. Crap, was his mind playing tricks on him or were there people down there? He knew these were the same tunnels the Alteans and Balmerans navigated every day, but what were the odds he’d stumble upon an inhabited area? He judged the fall to be at least fifteen feet deep. It funneled quite clearly the sounds coming from below and brought to his ears crying and yelling and terrorized whimpering. These folks had nowhere to go, no way to get out of there. Allura had told him that there was only one entrance to the tunnels and it had been destroyed by that explosion.

He turned to the crowd amassed around him. “Get me some rope! And ladders if you have any! There’re people trapped down there! Hurry!”

A few jumped to do his bidding while others just dispersed, not wanting to help. Keith had no idea what he’d do once he got a rope—surely he wasn’t thinking about getting down there? But yeah, that’s what he did—someone found a long rope, knotted it about a sturdy-looking lamppost, and Keith used it to slowly lower himself down into the hole. It was stupid, it was reckless, it wasn’t his job. The police and firefighters and paramedics were on their way, he should leave the rescuing to them. There weren’t here yet though and he was, and he was dumb—next time he made fun of Lance for trying to be some girl’s knight in shining armour, he hoped Lance would smack him.

It took him long minutes to lower himself hand over hand into the hole. Every muscle of his upper body burned and he had no idea how he was going to make it back out. It didn’t matter at the moment. Using his PDA’s flashlight to light his way, he began walking amongst the debris. He tugged his shirt’s collar over his nose, trying not to breathe in the dirt and dust that floated in the air.

“Hey!” he called when he spotted three Balmarans huddled together. They flinched at his voice. “Don’t be afraid, I’m here to help. I know your friend, Allura? And Shay?” They glanced at each other in wonder. “There’s a rope there, see it? Use it to climb to the surface. There’ll be people to help you.”

It took some coaxing until they reluctantly made their way towards the dangling rope. They were afraid of getting above ground, Keith realised. If Allura’s story had any truth to it, these people had never seen the light of day. They’d spent most, if not all, of their life in those underground tunnels, digging away under the whip of the Galrans.

This gave him pause. The Galrans. They guarded this place. What if he encountered them? Would they shoot him for trespassing? He doubted they’d thank him for his help. He had no idea and he tried not to think too much about it.

For a while, he lost himself in work. There were Balmarans and Alteans stuck beneath the debris that had fallen from above, so he helped dig them out. As he did so, he kept an eye out for Allura, asking about her, afraid that he’d find her crushed body under a stone. They all did a double take when they saw him, a human, covered in grime, willing to lend a hand. He was dimly aware that more ropes had been lowered into the hole and that other folks had come down to help. He stumbled upon Lance out of sheer luck—the two of them were lending their strength to a couple of Balmerans to move a huge stone and their eyes met by accident. Just like everybody else, Lance was grimy and scratched, but the huge, relieved smile he gave Keith was enough to make him forget his own hurts.

A red-haired Altean popped seemingly out of nowhere at his elbow, startling him. She gaze intently at him through a mask of dust, blue eyes narrowed. “Are you the one asking after Princess Allura?”

Keith hesitated, wiping his forehead. “Yeah, I know her.”

“Come with me, she’s over there.”

She grabbed his wrist and dragged him through the debris, Lance following like a puppy. Keith was exhausted by then, legs barely carrying him. He wished she’d just slow down so he could take a breath. She picked a path amongst the rubbles, leading them further into the tunnels that hadn’t been destroyed. Keith kept glancing at the ceiling of earth, afraid it would cave in on him. The Altean didn’t need light to see—she guided them surely through the maze without once faltering.

They found Allura in a large, open cave that had collapsed on one side. Here too were many Balmarans and Alteans dragging themselves out from the under the rubbles, bloodied and hurt and grimy. Lance squeaked at the back of his throat the second he spotted Allura standing there. In the gloom relieved only by the combined lights of their PDAs, her hair shone like poured silver, making her look ethereal. It hardly mattered that, like everybody else, she was covered in rock dust from head to toe. The smile she bestowed upon them was nothing short of radiant, a small sun hidden deep beneath the ground.

“Lance, Keith! It’s so good to see you again!”

Lance practically glowed as he smiled at her. Keith didn’t know how to behave around her—he’d whined constantly about her ever since their first meeting, and now he felt awkward standing in front of her. In a matter of seconds, she explained the situation to them: there had been an explosion in the main shaft while some material was being transported. It caused a collapse of that entire gallery, which in turn caused the collapse of galleries under this one. Their sole means of escape had been destroyed. Their Galra captors, those who hadn’t been killed, were trying to organise some sort of evacuation.

“They don’t know what to do,” she said grimly, “because nobody is supposed to know of our existence. They don’t want us to go above ground, but we can’t stay here where it’s not safe. They’re waiting for orders from Emperor Zarkon.”

Keith and Lance exchanged a look.

Lance announced: “Zarkon’s dead. There’s no Emperor for the moment.”

Allura’s eyes widened. She pressed her lips together in an effort to repress some emotion. Mastering herself, she said diplomatically. “What a shame. We work directly under the Emperor’s purview. I don’t know what’s going to happen to us then.”

“The most important thing is to get you and your people out of here,” Lance declared. “There are people helping. Come, Allura.”

“I cannot leave until I’m sure every survivor has been seen to.”

“How many people are in the mines?” Keith asked.

“112 Alteans and 346 Balmerans.”

“Maybe it’d be easier to coordinate all of that from the surface,” Lance said. “At least we’d know how many of your people are out.”

Allura shook her head. “Perhaps, but I’m staying.”

There was no changing her mind. Keith sighed while Lance looked even more enamoured. Together with her, they set out to find the survivors. Keith lost count of the numbers of tunnels they visited, of the rocks they moved, of the Alteans and Balmerans they saved. The Balmerans were a race made to live in the ground, so a cave in like this one didn’t faze them much. They possessed big, paw-shaped claws that made it easy for them to dig and cut through rocks. The Alteans were a different matter. They resembled the humans in almost every way. They were a tough bunch, however. Often, when they found an Altean stuck somewhere, Keith was certain they would be dead or at least maimed. It wasn’t the case. Bruises and scrapes were aplenty, not that many broken bones. There were casualties, of course. Allura insisted they wrap the corpse in a blanket as some sort of respect. She was always very tender with the dead, touching their face and murmuring a few words, her voice full of sorrow. Never once did she complain about fatigue or aches. Her own hands were torn and bloodied, fingernails ragged, and yet she pushed on, looking for her people. Fala, who appeared to be her right-hand woman, followed dutifully, helping, not complaining either.

Night was falling by the time Allura decided it was time to stop. They were all shaking with fatigue. They stood under the hole that had been opened in the street, looking up. Bright spotlights had been lit, their beams directed into the hole to provide some light. Policemen, firemen, and paramedics had erected tents and a security parameter around the place to keep the curious at bay and help the wounded. Long ladders had replaced Keith’s single rope. There was also what looked like a hastily put-together lift to carry up those who couldn’t make the climb. Numerous of the helpers had climbed down to provide help. Rows upon rows of wounded Alteans and Balmerans sat to one side, their limbs bandaged up, waiting their turn to be hoisted out of here.

Keith watched the spectacle with a sort of tired surprise. He had never expected to witness the day when policemen would lower themselves to provide help to hurt low-towners. There were members of the CTAC here too, tall Galra in dark uniform covered in dirt. At first sight, there seemed to be no bullying, no roughhousing.

One policeman looked up from a wounded Balmaran child and Keith would have recognized that face anywhere.

“Shiro,” he said tiredly, going to him. “Shiro, what are you doing here?”

Shiro’s eyes widened when he saw him. He patted the head of the child before climbing to his feet to greet Keith. Just like the rest of them, he was filthy from head to toe. He’d discarded his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. There were smudges of dirt on his face and a new tiredness to his eyes that couldn’t all be this rescue mission.

“Keith,” he said, his face breaking into a smile. “You’re here! Are you all right? Did you get hurt?”

“No, I’m fine. I saw the explosion and I rushed to help. You didn’t answer my question.”

Shiro sighed. “Well, it’s the police’s duty to help those in need, isn’t it?” He lowered his voice. “Chief Holt was ordered to send us alongside the CTAC. Commander Sendak wanted to be here for some reason, probably because Prince Lotor is out there making a show of helping the wounded.”

Keith’s tired mind barely comprehended all of that. “What, Lotor and Sendak are here? Aren’t they supposed to be at each other’s throat?”

“Yes, they are. The prince seems to genuinely want to help. As for the commander, I’m not sure why he wanted to be here.” He hesitated. “I suppose it’s because he wants to… contain whatever happened here. He won’t be lucky in that matter: there are already reporters filming the whole thing. I’ve heard some of them saying how noble it is for Prince Lotor to help the low-towners.”

“So, it’s a publicity stunt.”

Shiro shrugged. “I don’t know. Look, we’re finishing up here. Why don’t you help me with those wounded folk? We need to put them on the lift.”

Keith agreed only because this was Shiro asking. Together, they supported those too hurt or weak to walk, gently putting them on the lift. Keith noticed that all of these people were looking terrorized at the thought of going to the surface. Some, especially the youngsters, didn’t even want to go up. Allura talked to each one of them, reassuring them, telling them it would be all right. Keith didn’t know if that was the truth and he didn’t know if she believed her own words. Her marble expression made it impossible to guess her thoughts.

Allura supervised the evacuation of her people down to the last one. Night had truly fallen by the time she also agreed to be hoisted out of the hole. The bright spotlights made it look like day. Keith, Lance, Shiro, Allura, and Fala rode the lift together, all too exhausted to make small talk. Keith was even too tired to muster the strength to be happy to be standing next to Shiro.

Out on the street, a sort of organized chaos reigned. Countless vehicles had barred the access roads. Their revolving, colourful emergency lights gave an almost joyful look to the otherwise dreadful scene. On one side was a pile of bodies hastily covered by a tarp. On the other, the wounded who had been seen to by the paramedics sat in a corded off area, awaiting orders. Those who had yet to be seen were massed together, head down, holding their painful limbs. Further away, out of the restricted area, curious people of all species were looking at what was happening. Telly crews had erected their cameras a bit everywhere, filming what was happening while their reporter talked animatedly. Every camera lens was pointed towards one person: a tall, well-built Galra man with long, white hair. He was answering questions asked by the reporters while a paramedic stood beside him with a tablet.

Prince Lotor.

Keith recognized him easily from all the times he’d appeared on telly recently. He had seemingly taken charge of the situation and everybody seemed content to do his bidding.

Allura certainly had never seen him, yet she easily guessed that he was the man in charge. Before anyone could stop her, she shouldered past Lance and marched towards the prince. The cameras turned towards her, that tall, slender young woman covered in dust. Lotor’s attention was instantly captured by her and he smiled welcomingly, as if he’d expected her arrival.

Keith stood too far to hear what they were saying. There was no aggression in their stance, and they seemed happy to exchange while the whole of the Galra Empire watched through those cameras. Some of those did a swipe of the scene once in a while, and Keith hurriedly turned his face away, not wanting to be seen. One reporter spotted Shiro and rushed to him, nearly dragging her cameraman behind him. She shoved her microphone in Shiro’s face, asking him what had happened and what he thought of the situation. Keith just stood beside him, frozen in surprise—if he ran, it would just bring attention to him. To make things worse, Shiro put a hand on his shoulder and told the reporter that he had been amongst the first on the scene to lend a hand. The young woman glanced at him, totally uninterested, before resuming her questions aimed at Shiro. Keith kept his head down, ill at ease, hoping this woman was from one of the minor channels that nobody cared about. He’d hate seeing his face on the news for all the empire to see.

The Prince’s voice raised above the din as he proclaimed the Balmerans and the Alteans were now under his protection. Thankfully, the female reporter turned her attention to him, allowing Keith time to slip away to where Lance stood. With him was Matt Holt, Pidge’s brother and Shiro’s partner, and Fala. Fala was talking to him, apparently delighted. Matt liked being noticed by pretty women. This time, he looked trapped like a rabbit in headlights. He was horribly pale beneath the grime on his cheeks and sweat beaded on his forehead. Fala didn’t seem to notice his discomfiture. After a few seconds of this, he abruptly excused himself and rushed away, disappearing into the throng of people.

Fala’s face fell. “What’s wrong with him? I was just telling him I was happy to see him again.”

“Again?” Keith asked.

“Yes? He was with us for about two years. The Galras didn’t seem to like him very much so they were always very hard on him. One day, he just disappeared. I thought he’d been taken away forever.”

“What? Two years? Was that about a year ago?” Keith asked.

Fala thought before nodding. “Yes, I’d say so.”

So, Matt had been thrown into the mines during his disappearance. That might explain why he’d been so uncomfortable last time they’d been down there. Was that where Shiro had been, too? He hadn’t seemed to recognize the place when they’d first met Allura. Yet another layer to that damn mystery.

Prince Lotor looked utterly taken by Allura. He called her  _ Princess _ in front of the whole world, going as far as kissing her scraped knuckles. Allura had a smile on her that could only be called  _ polite _ . Her shoulders were thrown back and her spine was ramrod straight. Her features looked frozen stiff, like she had to steel herself not to pull away.

The talking went on for at least two hours. Keith wanted to go while Lance insisted they stay. Like a good courtier, he wished to be excused by his sovereign first. Shiro didn’t seem intent on leaving yet either, so Keith stayed, not doing much. Once, standing by Shiro’s elbow, he caught sight of Commander Sendak. Keith had seen him only a handful of times on telly, but he would have recognized him amongst thousands. The tall Galra stood menacingly to one side, surrounded by a few of his men. His features were more animalistic than most Galras Keith had seen. There was lilac fur on his face. He had one missing eye and his missing left arm had been replaced by some fancy prosthetic. He looked huge as he stood there, not once moving to help. He appeared to be surveying the whole thing, his glare bitter enough to curdle milk. He kept throwing nasty looks towards Lotor. His men pointed at the Prince, making rude gestures with their hands and laughing. Keith suddenly remembered Adam’s reaction when they’d heard the commander of the CTAC had been exonerated of all accusations of murder a month ago—he’d said that Sendak had a link to Shiro, to what had happened during his disappearance. Keith wondered if this was true or if Adam’s paranoia wasn’t running away with him. He stared at the Commander, at the vicious scowl on his face and the proud tilt of his head. He had no difficulty imagining him being cruel. Had he hurt Shiro, Keith couldn’t be sure.

As if Shiro had caught him staring, he touched his shoulder gently. Keith’s attention returned immediately to him.

“You kept the jacket,” Shiro said.

“Yeah. It’s warm.”

He didn’t add that it used to smell like Shiro or that he’d curled with it in bed. Shiro smiled at this. He never asked Keith to give the garment back.

“You’d be a good policeman. What you did for those people was very generous, Keith. You helped them without once thinking about your own safety. I’m proud of you.”

Keith’s whole body warmed at the praise. “I didn’t even think,” he admitted.

“You saw people in need and you stepped in. I didn’t expect anything less of you. You’re a good person.”

This wasn’t quite true. Keith didn’t consider himself a good person. He wasn’t like Shiro, he wasn’t selfless. In fact, he considered himself pretty selfish at times. Still, there was no denying that he’d indeed jumped into that hole to see what had happened. Whether he’d done it selflessly to help or for some other weird reason, he couldn’t be sure. He was just glad his actions had earned him Shiro’s praise.

Finally, Prince Lotor decided he had enough. He wrapped the whole thing up, flashing a smile into the cameras and promising he’d take care of those poor people. There were more questions from reporters who apparently didn’t want to leave just yet—he waved them away, promising he’d give a press conference tomorrow on what had truly happened here. Beside him, Allura hadn’t said much. Her dark skin was smudged black around her eyes. She looked exhausted, ready to fall on her feet. As if this were some cue, Fala rushed to her side, gently taking her arm. The two women exchanged a few words, Fala’s attention focused solely on Lotor. She stared at him like he’d hung the stars in the sky, like he was the greatest thing that had ever happened.

Stepping once again into her role as a leader, Allura stiffly introduced Lotor to Lance and Keith, saying they had been the two first on the scene to help her wounded people. Lotor observed them, yellowish-blue eyes taking them in silently. Keith returned his stare unflinchingly. Lotor didn’t look much different from when he was on telly. He was kind of dashing, with regular features and a good, strong frame. He didn’t have the brutish look of most Galra men. There was an aura of command surrounding him and he stood like a man in charge, ready to be obeyed. Like those of his race, he was tall, taller than Shiro, which meant he towered over them all easily. It was easy to see he was a half-breed however: his eyes were clearer than those of the full-blooded Galra, the whites were indeed white rather than yellow. He looked arrogant though, cocky, self-assured. Lance obviously didn’t like him—he glared up at the prince with open dislike.

“I’m so very thankful for your help, gentlemen,” he said smoothly, smiling. “It’s nice to see that people are still willing to help one another.”

“It’s no problem,” Keith answered warily.

“I want you to know that we will take very good care of the poor Alteans and Balmarans that you’ve rescued. I’ll personally keep an eye on everything. They will be rehoused accordingly and the mines will be closed.”

Unlike what Allura had told them, Lotor didn’t seem to want to keep the existence of the mines a secret.

“What was happening down there was dreadful,” he continued, sighing. “I’m afraid there’s a lot my father did that was horrible.” He smiled charmingly at Allura. “I don’t want the past to dictate the future. I plan on taking very good care of the Alteans. They’re my people also, after all.”

Before he had time to extrapolate on that, a Galran officer tapped on his shoulder and he turned to talk to her in hushed tones.

“Lotor is offering us sanctuary!” Fala said excitedly. “Can you believe that, Princess? We’ll finally be able to live in the open! I cannot wait to see the world!”

“Yes, it’s very nice of him,” Allura murmured. She then turned to Lance, eyes serious. “Lance, I’m sorry to ask, but would you be able to find us lodgings? I’d feel better staying with a friend.”

Lotor caught her words. Instead of speaking up, he just listened to the conversation as if he had no stake in the matter.

Lance’s eyes widened. “Hm, y-yes, I’d love to have you home, Allura! We’ll make do, right, Keith?”

Keith couldn’t very well say no. He shrugged—they’d make do one way or the other. Even if he didn’t like the idea of having strangers in his home, it wouldn’t be very nice of him to refuse. Allura clearly didn’t want to accept Lotor’s offer of help. Fala looked crestfallen at this. She kept her council, obviously willing to go with whatever Allura wished.

“Splendid idea!” Lotor said, as if he had any say in this. “I’m sure Lance here will take very good care of the Princess.” He smiled at Allura. “Princess, allow me to visit you in a couple of days. Once you’re rested, I’d love to take you on a tour of the city. Your lovely handmaiden can accompany you, of course. I could take this occasion to explain to you how I plan on rehousing the Alteans and the Balmerans so mistreated by my father. What do you say?”

While Fala looked excited, Allura merely smiled. “That’s a lovely thought, Prince Lotor. I gladly accept your generous offer. It is very important for me that I make sure every last one of my people finds decent housing.”

“Of course, I perfectly understand. As a sovereign myself, I can sympathize. We—”

Keith tuned them out, uncaring. Things were moving beyond his control. He felt as if he had no real say in what was happening around him. He hated the thought of getting involved with Allura, Lotor, or anyone else in power. He didn’t understand why Lance went along with this. They were drug dealers, they couldn’t be attracting attention to themselves like that. If their partners learned that they were on friendly terms with the Prince, they might lose their business. Everybody in low-town mistrusted the government and their ruler—it was the one thing that connected them all. Aligning themselves with their overlord’s brood could make their life difficult. Hell, the simple fact that Keith was friends with a policeman could be problematic. There was no getting out of this, not after cameras had been on them for hours. There would be no denying what had happened. Lance’s uncle would be so furious at them for standing in the spotlight like that.

He shook his head. Instead of pondering this further, he decided to go to Shiro. When he saw that Shiro and Matt were talking to Commander Sendak, Keith hesitated. The Commander towered comically over the both of them—he wasn’t shouting, but they were looking chastised nonetheless. Matt’s hands, fisted at his sides, were trembling ever so slightly. Keith didn’t like the stress he saw in Shiro’s body language, how he tried to subtly angle himself away from Sendak.

Suddenly furious, he barged in on their conversation by grabbing Shiro’s arm. He threw a nasty glare at the Commander who was looking offended to be interrupted.

“Shiro,” Keith said, “take me home? I’m tired.”

The Commander snorted in disgust. “What’s that, Shirogane? You’re friends with street rats now? I shouldn’t be surprised—Chief Holt’s whole department is made of a bunch of soft-hearted ninnies.”

“I—I, erm, Keith, I still have work to do, I’m sorry. Will you be okay to go home on your own? Lance is with you, isn’t he?”

Thankfully, Commander Sendak lost interest in them. He turned and marched away to rejoin some of his people who were sniggering, pointing at Shiro.

Keith wanted to bite off their pointing fingers.

He said to Shiro: “Yeah, I’ll be fine, I just wanted to get that bastard off your back.”

Matt offered a tentative, uncertain smile. “Thanks? That guy hates our guts.”

“Yeah, I could tell. I’m going now. Shiro, please rest, okay? You look terrible. Promise to take care of yourself or I’ll unleash Adam on you.”

Shiro chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll do my best, Keith. Call me once you’re home, okay?” A thought occurred to him and said: “Is your home still standing? Was it caught in the collapse?”

“No, it’s fine. Lance’s mother texted me to confirm it hours ago.”

“Oh, that’s good news. Well, you know that you can always stay with me if there’s no electricity or running water. It’s getting cold, so I wouldn’t want you catch your death.”

Keith thought about this for half a second, thought of staying with Shiro in that small flat of his with only one bedroom and one bed. He shook his head—no, it would be way too awkward on his end. For a moment, he hated his feelings—they’d grown so much in the past few years that it made spending time with Shiro almost painful. He relished every second spent in his company as much as he dreaded it. It hadn’t been like that before. His crush had been there without actually hindering. Over the last year, the love he felt for Shiro had taken over everything else. He couldn’t just sit next to the man without thinking about touching his arm or resting his head on his shoulder or waking up next to him on lazy mornings just to observe that beautiful face. It wasn’t even purely physical—sure he’d pay a king’s ransom to jump into Shiro’s pants, that just wasn’t the whole thing. Keith would be fine with settling into a sexless life with Shiro if it meant they were together.

“I’ll call you if we don’t have electricity, all right?” Keith promised.

Shiro looked satisfied with this. “That’s good. Good night, Keith, and thanks again for the help.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

There wasn’t enough hot water for the four of them, so Keith and Lance did the gallant thing and allowed Fala and Allura to use it all. The women borrowed clothing from them, totally unconcerned about how weird the whole thing felt. Allura was very quiet, her face thoughtful. Fala talked for the both of them, smiling, very polite, thanking them endlessly for their hospitality. Lance was smitten already by the both of them. He basked in the attention of the pretty red-haired Altean, preening when she complimented him. He changed the sheets in his bed to clean ones so their guests could sleep there, not once making a raunchy joke about joining them. Lance was charmed without being blinded—he could tell flirting with either Fala or Allura right now would be considered as bad taste. They were his guests so he had to be a good host and treat them with respect.

Keith left him to it while he showered too, gasping at the cold water hitting his back. The single light bulb overhead flickered annoyingly—electricity was intermittent as many of the powerlines had been downed by the explosion and their generator was dying. He thought of upper town where they never had trouble with such thing—electricity wasn’t used the same way as in low town. Adam had explained the whole thing—Keith didn’t have a diploma in astrophysics so it hadn’t made that much sense. All he knew was that those rich upper towners never had to suffer through a cold shower. Maybe he should have taken up Shiro’s offer or, even better, crashed at Adam’s flat until things got fixed here.

The soap stung his myriads of cuts and scratches. Looking down at himself, he saw that his knees and hands up to his wrists were bloodied. He could hardly curl his fingers without wincing in pain. Crap, he had three clients booked for tomorrow and Griffin for the day after. Griffin would fuss over the cuts, making Keith want to punch him. It didn’t matter for the moment however. It didn’t matter much anyway—it wasn’t as if he couldn’t suck a dick just because his hands hurt.

Getting the grit out of his hair took forever. By the time he was finished, he was shivering violently. There wasn’t even steam in the tiny bathroom. He wrapped a towel around his body, trying to warm himself up. Fuck, accepting that money from the alien— _ Wor _ , he forced himself to think—seemed more and more like a good idea. He was getting so bloody tired of the cold water and unreliable electricity. It just sucked that he could do nothing with it yet—if he used one penny of it, he’d have to declare it to the fisc and explain where it came from. He’d have to admit he’d slept with an alien and it would mean the end of his career as a class-three prostitute. He still hadn’t found another way to present it—it wasn’t as if his ordinary clients paid that kind of money to be with him. There would be questions asked that he had no answers to. He didn’t fool himself into thinking he could get away with this. Whoever the Galras had hired to look after taxes was very, very good. Nobody got away with anything, not low towners anyway. So he had all that money sitting in between two bank accounts, untouchable. It was so out of reach he might not even consider it existed.

Lance had fallen asleep on the couch when Keith left the bathroom. He woke him up gently and Lance obediently went to shower in his turn. Keith sat on the spot he’d vacated, wrapping himself in a blanket. He was exhausted. He wanted to go to bed without wanting to lie down on the cold bed sheets on his own. There was no sound coming from the room the two women were sleeping in. Just like him, they had to be tired by their ordeal. What were they going to do with them? Surely, they couldn’t stay here. It wasn’t that Keith didn’t want to have them around—he didn’t—it just seemed incredibly stupid to keep a woman their future emperor might be interested in. Keith didn’t want that kind of attention brought to his household. It was bad already that Lotor knew of their existence—hell, that he’d visit sooner or later to get news of Allura. That would bring way too much attention to them, attention they didn’t need right now.

To distract himself, he checked his texts on his PDA. Lance’s whole family had texted him at one point or another, asking if they were all right and saying they’d seen him on telly. There was nothing from Uncle Pedro, but Keith knew it meant little. If the man had to talk to them, he’d do so in person. Another text was from Adam, also inquiring about his well-being. Keith answered that one right away—he didn’t want the older man to worry unduly. Maybe he’d pay Adam a visit later, if only to use his shower for the luxury of using hot water. He had a text from an unknown sender. This was unusual. People couldn’t contact him if they didn’t have his authorisation. Reading the text, he suddenly realised it was from Wor. His clients never contacted him that way—they always used the city’s network to do so. Frowning, he dimly recalled Wor handing him his PDA—had he added his contact information in it so he could text Keith whenever he wished? It was a bold move.

_ [Unknown] I saw what happened on telly. Are you alright, darling? _

_ [Keith] I’m fine. You snuck in your info on my PDA, didn’t you? _

_ [Unknown] I did. Do you mind? _

_ [Keith] No. Next time you want something, ask, though. _

_ [Unknown] If that’s what you wish. If I want another meeting with you, will you accept? _

_ [Keith] I don’t know if I can. I could get into trouble. I’m not allowed to see aliens. I can’t afford to lose my licence. _

_ [Unknown] Understandable. I might have a way around this. _

_ [Keith] How? _

_ [Unknown] I’ll tell you at our next meeting. _

The texts stopped. Keith scowled at his PDA—this was so unhelpful. He sighed and leaned against the backrest. This was too much for one day. He couldn’t place one thought in front of the other. Next meeting, Wor had said, like Keith had accepted to see him a second time. If it weren’t for the risk of losing his licence, he wasn’t sure he’d refuse. The sex had been so damn good—he’d felt it for two days afterward, the ache in his hips and butt and down his throat. There was still the faintest trace of teeth on his neck. He couldn’t remember ever getting that much pleasure from anyone, client or not. And it wasn’t only that. It had been…  _ thrilling _ . That jump into the unknown had gotten his pulse racing and given him an adrenaline rush he’d felt only in battle. Would these feelings disappear with time and habit, if he saw Wor on a more regular basis? He doubted it, it would last at least until he saw what the alien looked like. Even now after he’d had time to rethink that night, he still couldn’t fathom what Wor might look like. He only had an impression of scaly skin and bumpy body. His imagination had never been the best so piecing all these feelings he’d gotten was almost impossible. Perhaps at the next meeting he’d ask to see the guy’s face. Wor obviously liked him so maybe he’d indulge him.

A few minutes later, Lance was done with his shower. They went to sleep in Keith’s room, huddling together under the blankets for warmth.

-

Day hadn’t broken yet when Keith woke. Judging by the quality of the light, he guessed it had to be around five in the morning—he’d slept for less than three hours. What had woken him up was the sound of footsteps coming from the kitchen. Lance was still in bed with him and it took Keith long seconds to remember that they had two guests. His whole body had tensed at the noise so he forced himself to relax. Either Allura or Fala had to be up. Did they need something? They knew to take whatever they needed—it wasn’t as if valuable stuff could be stolen from the flat.

Sighing, Keith turned until he was facing Lance. He needed more sleep. He was envious of the other’s slumber. Lance’s body was warm and comfortable. He’d slipped his arm under Keith’s pillow sometime during the night and his other arm was loosely wrapped around his waist. It was familiar and nice, sadly not enough to lull him back to sleep. Keith didn’t like the thought of two strangers roaming in his apartment, no matter that they’d been made welcome. He had absolutely nothing to hide, yet this was  _ his _ stuff nonetheless.

Slowly, he sat up, gently moving Lance’s arm away so as not to disturb him. He had to climb over the other man to get off the bed, which would have been fine if his body hadn’t been so sore from what had happened yesterday. His legs shook, and his whole back and arms were stiff. He managed not to wake Lance up, the simple act of getting up tiring him out. Putting on pants turned out to be just as complicated with his aching fingers. He was a mess—why did he always get into trouble like that? Going down that hole had been pure madness. It didn’t matter that Shiro had congratulated him on his courage. It hadn’t been courage, simply madness.

Keith left his room, closing the door behind him. He found Allura seated at the kitchen table, sipping a glass of water. She hadn’t turned on any light. Dressed as she was in his own clothes, it made her look boyish, younger. She looked up at his approach, blue eyes clear and steady. If she felt as bad as he did, she hid it well behind a good mask of composure.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said softly.

“No, I was up already. Did you sleep okay?”

“I didn’t sleep much to be honest. Fala is a terrible bedmate, I’m afraid, and I have a lot of my mind.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Did you eat? We have food in the fridge.”

Allura offered him a tiny smile. “I didn’t dare touch anything. Most of those contraptions here aren’t familiar to me.”

Keith wanted to smack himself—of course Allura wouldn’t know what a fridge is. She spent most of her life in a mineshaft, away from civilization. He doubted they’d had the same kind of refrigerator back on her home planet before it had been destroyed. He hadn’t even thought about that. She looked so human, so ordinary, that he kept forgetting she was in fact an alien.

“Ah. Well, I’m not the greatest cook, I still can put something together if you’d like,” he said awkwardly.

“I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

She was being polite, but now that he’d exchanged more than a couple of words with her, Keith noticed an oddity in her tone. It was tight, overly proper, like she was trying to distance herself from him. He didn’t think she’d spoken like that to Lance last night. Why would she want to put up walls between them? They didn’t know each other. Maybe she simply didn’t like him—it happened. Maybe he’d offended her or, hell, maybe she sensed he didn’t want her and her troubles here. If that were the case, he hoped Prince Lotor found her suitable lodgings soon. He didn’t want to be made to feel like an intruder in his own home.

“It’s no bother, really. Lance would kill me if I let you die of hunger.”

Not giving her time to reply, he turned on the light and opened the fridge’s door. There were leftovers that Lance’s mother had dropped by as well as some of that tasteless goo the low towners had grown used to. He doubted Allura would like the goo so he opted to make porridge. It was one of the meals he more or less had mastered so he wouldn’t poison her. As he mixed the water and the oat, he could feel her eyes boring on him. The back of his neck itched from the intensity of her glare. He tried not to let this affect him—this was only temporary. He decided on the spot that, if Allura and Fala stuck around for much longer, he was going to take Shiro’s offer and stay with him for a few days. It would be awkward, yet certainly not nearly as awkward as having a girl wearing his clothes looking down her nose at him for some reason he couldn’t fathom. He didn’t want her to throw herself at his feet, but a little warmth would certainly be nice. Shit, he should have woken Lance up to let him deal with this—he was the womanizer between the two of them.

“Okay, so,” he said as he set a bowl of porridge in front of her, “what’s the deal? Why are you looking at me like that? Do you think I’m going to attack you?”

She thanked him for the porridge. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. “That knife you showed me in the caves, where did you get it?” She took a bite of her food. “It’s very good.”

Keith wasn’t sure what to make of that question. She’d looked at his knife during their last encounter. There’d been a chill in her eyes at the sight of it, as if it brought back bad memories.

He decided that, if they were to be flatmates, he might as well be honest. “My father gave it to me. It belonged to my mother.”

“Oh.” Allura took a few bites. “And your mother, where is she?”

“I don’t know. She left when I was a baby. I don’t remember her. She was an alien, before you ask, I know that much. Pidge—you met her in the mines—analyzed the knife and confirmed it wasn’t made of any materials found on Earth. I know I’m a half-breed and my father was human, so two plus two, eh.”

For the first time, Allura looked up from her bowl to look at him.  _ Look  _ at him, her eyes searching as if she were trying to decide whether he was telling the truth. Keith returned her gaze unfalteringly.

“But you don’t know what race your mother was.”

“No. I could get my blood tested, I just don’t care enough to do so.”

“I’ve seen knives like yours before.”

“Allura—“

“On Galra soldiers,” she said, running over his objection. “Galra soldiers have knives like yours, Keith. Your mother was Galra.”

Keith wished he could say this revelation shocked him. It did, just a tiny bit. Deep down, in his heart of hearts, he’d sensed this long ago. He put his spoon down, throat tight. Having confirmation hurt nonetheless even if he’d suspected this. His mother had been a Galra woman. A  _ Galra _ . How could his father had loved such a woman? Because he’d loved her—Keith had seen the tenderness in his eyes whenever he’d mentioned her. How could his father have loved a woman from such a warlike race? Weren’t all the Galras evil, cruel, cold-hearted? It didn’t make sense. And what did that make of  _ him _ ? This brought to light many things—like why he enjoyed fighting and why he was so damn good at it. It ran in his genes like it ran in every Galra’s, tempered by his human blood. It explained why he was so tough, so strong despite his lithe frame.

“And so you hate me,” he murmured through numb lips.

“I simply cannot trust you.”

“Fuck you.”

He got up and left the flat. It didn’t matter that he was wearing sweatpants and only a t-shirt against the morning chill. He needed to get out of there before he did anything he might regret later. He tried telling himself Allura had ample reasons to hate the Galra—those excuses sounded weak. He had ample reasons to hate them too and yet—no, he’d probably do the exact same thing if he were in her shoes. His mother had been a Galra! Ah, maybe that was why she’d left. The Galras surely weren’t renowned for their family loyalty. Emperor Zarkon and Prince Lotor had been at each other’s throat for as long as Keith could remember.

Keith couldn’t bring himself to truly be angry at Allura. He was angry at the whole situation, perhaps even at himself a little too for not having taken a blood test sooner. He wished his father were still alive so he could ask him what he’d seen in a Galra woman who’d most likely been a murderess like the rest of her race. Hadn’t his father been a good man? Was his goodness of heart the reason why he’d fallen for an evil person in the first place? Had he seen a glimmer in her that had given him hope she could redeem herself? What a naïve fool his old man had been—he surely hadn’t expected her to up and leave after she’d given him a son.

A waft of warm air jerked Keith out of his reverie. He realised he’d just stepped into the skymetro—he’d been so lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t cared where his feet took him. He knew instinctively where to go—to Shiro.

He froze in the motion of sitting down—what if Shiro hated him too for his parentage? Keith’s whole body went cold at that thought. Shiro had millions of reasons to hate the Galras. What if, like Allura, the tainted blood in his veins disgusted him? What if he saw him differently afterwards? Keith almost stepped out of the wagon at the next stop. No, no, he needed to talk to someone about this. It felt too huge, like a big thing lodged uncomfortably at the back of his throat. He might burst with it if he didn’t get it out. He could have gone to Adam, except it was Shiro he needed for this. He could only hope this wouldn’t change the way things were between them.

The few people riding the skymetro with him gave him odd looks. Nobody said anything—at this hour of the morning, one shoeless bloke without a coat wasn’t that extraordinary. They probably thought he was a hobo or a junkie. He certainly looked the part with his hands covered in scratches, the scar on his face, and the ones in the crooks of his elbows. He didn’t mind their stares. He just gazed sightlessly out the window, hoping Shiro would be home. He didn’t know what he’d do if he weren’t.

He hopped off at the right station. It had to be nearing seven now—there was a small crowd gathering inside the station. Commuters threw him surprised glances. In this part of the city, weirdos like him weren’t the norm. The people his path met were dressed in nice suits and smart skirts. A few flinched from him as if he smelled bad. There were a few Galras and Keith wondered if they knew, sensed, that he was one of theirs. He didn’t feel any kinship towards them, but that might only be because he did his damnest to suppress it. How many of those ordinary humans avoiding his eye were half Galra like him? Did they like it? Did it make them feel like dirty like him?

It had started raining. In a matter of seconds, he was soaked to the bone, shivering as cold raindrops hit his skin. His hair was plastered against his skull, black strands sticking to his face. His clothes were soggy, hugging his limbs uncomfortably. He thought of his PDA secured inside the waistband of his pants and hoped it was as waterproof as it was rumoured to be. His PDA. Maybe he should have texted Shiro before dropping by unannounced.

Shiro lived in a relatively small skyscraper a few streets away from the city centre. The place was calm, mostly inhabited by career-oriented bachelors like him. There were cars parked on both sides of the streets, perfectly aligned. Keith spared them an envious glance—if he had a car he wouldn’t be getting this soaked. Shiro’s building seemed further than he remembered. His feet hurt from the hard concrete, the pain barely dimmed by the encroaching cold. He pushed back wet hair from his eyes, sniffling. The tips of his fingers were getting pruned, the skin turning whitish. He was going to catch his death on top of everything else.

He had the security code to enter the building. His numb forefinger slipped on the pad and he had to retype it twice before getting it correctly. Inside the lobby, the warm air made everything suddenly worse. He groaned, crossing his arms over his chest and just standing there for a second to gather his thoughts. He still had time to go back, to stop this insanity. He shouldn’t be burdening Shiro with that stuff—the man had enough to deal with already. He looked back through the glass door at the downpour. A woman was hurrying past with an umbrella, looking miserable despite her coat. Keith couldn’t go back out there, at least not before the rain abated. Water dribbled from his feet, forming a growing puddle around him on the polished floor. If one of the tenants saw him, they might call the cops. He looked suspicious standing there in his wet garments without any shoes on. He wouldn’t quite blame them if they did—seeing a guy in sleeping clothes drenched from the rain in their lobby had to be unusual.

Mastering himself, Keith walked to the elevator and rode it to the tenth floor. The stairs were too daunting for the moment. The plush carpet on the floor felt good against his cold, hurting feet. He curled his toes into it, marveling that such a luxury was wasted in an lift. The warm air made his freezing skin tingle. Arms crossed tightly over his chest, he exited at the right floor. He paused there, hesitating. It was early—Shiro would be awake, busy with his morning routine. Keith felt bad for interrupting—he didn’t want to make Shiro late and therefore get him into trouble.

The sound of an opening door further down the corridor forced his hand. Not wanting to be caught here, he hurried to flat number 1011 and knocked before his courage leaked out of him. Maybe Shiro had already left—he’d said he’d been working overtime lately. Or maybe he was out for his morning run despite the bad weather. Or he was still sleeping and wouldn’t hear the knock. Or—

The door swung open. Shiro, wearing sweatpants and a tank top, gaped when he recognised who was standing on the threshold.

“Hi, Shiro. I’m sorry for—“

“Get in, Keith! You’re soaked!” Shiro pulled him in quickly. “What happened? Are you all right? Oh, and you’re not even wearing shoes?!”

Keith didn’t have time to place a word that Shiro was tugging him across the apartment towards the bathroom. He took a fluffy white towel out of the linen cabinet and used it to gently blot water from Keith’s face. Shiro’s face was pale with worry, his eyes looking him over as if he expected to see some wound that would explain his presence here. Keith stood there, allowing the towel to be pressed against his hair to soak up as much water as possible. It was so warm here in the apartment that his nose started running. The goosebumps came next and he had to clench his teeth to stop them from chattering.

Shiro talked to him softly as if he were a skittish animal. It was nice, not overbearing. He was made to wait in the bathroom while Shiro fetched him dry clothes. The ceramic floor was  _ heated _ —this felt like heaven against his feet. It took less than a minute, not leaving him enough time to bask in the smell of aftershave. Shiro handed him new garments, bidding him to change and then join him in the living room. Fingers stiff, Keith obeyed. His wet shirt and pants clung to him uncomfortably as he took them off. He used the towel to dry himself as much as possible. He was so cold it felt as if the water stuck to his skin no matter how hard he scrubbed. Shiro’s clothes were, as expected, much too big for him. Thankfully, there was a drawstring in the pants’ waistband so they wouldn’t fall down his legs and he rolled the shirt’s long sleeves. Damn, even the socks were too big. Nevertheless, he put it all on. His brain must be thawing finally because it marvelled at the fact that he was wearing Shiro’s  _ clothes _ . They smelled like him, like the jacket had when he’d first had it.

He glanced at himself into the large mirror. He was pale, his lips bloodless and his eyes too shiny. His wet hair stuck to his cheeks in ungraceful clumps. He combed it with his fingers, trying to bring some order to it. There was no denying he looked like shit and there was nothing he could do about it. He hung his clothes on the curtain pole after retrieving his PDA from his pants. Would Shiro be embarrassed to see his underwear there? It wasn’t as if he could wear them. It wasn’t as if Shiro had lent him any—it was a good thing he was used to going without. The borrowed pants were so large they sagged around his hips, effectively hiding his shape. He looked like he had when he’d lived on the streets: scrawny, shapeless, pale. The shirt collar slipped down his right shoulder, exposing the large scar there. He’d never felt less sexy in his life.

It didn’t matter. He exited the bathroom to meet with Shiro in the living room as instructed. As soon as he stepped in, Shiro was wrapping a large blanket around his shoulders and pushing a mug of hot cocoa in his hand. Keith was forced to sit on the chair nearest the small, fake fireplace. Shiro just watched him anxiously as he found a comfortable position to sit in, draping the blanket over his feet. If it hadn’t been for the worry etched on his face, Keith would have ogled him. Standing there in his sleeping garments with the orange light of the fireplace dancing on his skin, Shiro looked like some sort of handsome apparition.

“Is this okay? Are you still cold? Do you need another blanket?”

“I’m fine, Shiro, I promise.”

And he was. He took a sip of the hot cocoa—it was way too sugary, not delicious like the ones Adam made. It still warmed his insides. A drop or two of hard liquor would have done the trick if there had been any to be had. He made a show of drinking his beverage until the line of worry between Shiro’s thick brows lessened. His extremities tingled as the cold slowly receded. The fog in his brain lifted somewhat. It was nice, being in this small flat with the man he trusted the most in the whole wide world.

Shiro had to sense he was getting better because he visibly relaxed. He sat on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees.

“You know I’m a half-breed, right? Keith began.

“I don’t like that term, Keith. It’s pejorative. You’re of mixed heritage and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Keith had to smile at this. “There’s nothing wrong with that depending on what race makes the other half.”

“No, there’s  _ never _ anything wrong with that.”

“Even if my other half is Galran?”

Shiro looked at him evenly, not flinching. Nothing in his eyes changed. “No, it’s still not wrong. Would you hate me if I say I suspected you were half Galran?”

Keith painfully swallowed his next sip of hot cocoa. “W-what?”

“That knife you carry with you—I’ve seen it on some Galras. I don’t know what it means or where it comes from, but I’ve never met any other species that had one. I guessed that maybe your mother was Galran. It certainly explained to me why you are so tough, why you took so easily to the martial arts I taught you. You’re an incredible fighter, Keith. I’ve seen you take down fighting bots twice your size. Matt has had the same training as mine and he can’t do it as effortlessly as you do. It also explained why you’re never sick, why you heal so fast. Keith, when you were on the streets, you… led a hard life, yet you never caught any virus. You bounced back so rapidly after you met your friend Lance.” He sighed. “I know it’s difficult for you. The Galras aren’t very likeable most of the time. There are good people amongst them, however. Not all of them are bloodthirsty beasts. In fact, I’d say that a good part of them are just ordinary folk like you and me just trying to do their best. We are exposed to the worst of them because they take positions of power: the police, politicians, the army. Go to the nearest hospital and you’ll find Galran medical professionals who want to help you. There are Galran teachers who do a fine job at educating children of all races. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want you to think of yourself as a bad person because of what you just found out. Surely you know it’s our actions that define us, not our parents. From what I’ve seen, you’re a good person. You’re sweet and gentle and caring, you’re hardworking and honest and loyal. You’re a good friend and you take care of your people. Yes, you enjoy a good fight, but we enjoy doing what we’re good at, don’t you think? I enjoy a good fight too—how it leaves me breathless and feeling alive with the adrenaline rush. That doesn’t make us bad people because we don’t use our skills to hurt others. Adam enjoys cooking because he’s good at it, right? Well, imagine if he put poison into what he cooked—that would make him a bad person, far worse than you and me.” He reached out to put his prosthetic hand on Keith’s knee. “So, please, take all the time you need to wrap your head around that new piece of information about yourself. Simply remember what I just said.”

Silence surrounded them, broken only by the fake sound of the flames crackling inside the fireplace. Keith said nothing, thinking. His brain worked furiously while his heart beat painfully hard. Shiro had suspected—should he be hurt that he had never said so? No, he shouldn’t. This hadn’t been a secret for Shiro to spill and Keith had never asked. He gripped the warm mug harder between his fingers, peering into its depths. He wasn’t angry or hurt. As a matter of fact, there was a new lightness inside him. a knot had been eased, though he couldn’t be sure whether it was because he’d finally learned of his parentage or because of Shiro’s words.

Not all the Galras were bad people. He supposed it took an upper towner’s point of view to think that. To low towners, the Galras were their rulers, almost their oppressors, a bunch of aliens who didn’t give a crap to their struggles. As Shiro had pointed out, they only saw the bad ones: the CTAC policemen who raided their houses and killed them, the cronies that had surrounded Emperor Zarkon and Prince Lotor, the drug dealers who didn’t live by any of the codes the other cartels followed. In low town, the Galras were never the restaurant holders, or the cabbies, or the laundromat owners. They were always the enforcers and the goons and the ones able to make troublemakers disappear without leaving a trace. Keith knew he couldn’t quite reconcile the whole thing, not yet. He’d need time to get used to this new reality, to  _ his _ new reality. It helped that Shiro obviously thought so highly of some Galras. It also helped that Shiro’s opinion of him hadn’t changed.

Keith suddenly felt foolish for his overreaction. He couldn’t only blame Allura’s cold disdain for it—he’d up and run like a little bitch rather than face her and her comments. He’d made a fool of himself, crossing half the city in wet clothes to be comforted by his friend like a child. What was wrong with him? Why hadn’t he just gone to Lance? Lance had just been across the corridor, not on the other side of the bridge. He was pretty sure that Lance, just like Shiro, wouldn’t give a damn about who and what his mother had been.

He just wished he could say with certainty that everybody would be as open-minded as these two. He realised with unease that there were some in low town who wouldn’t take kindly to his half-Galra side. There were some neighbourhoods so unsafe that the police and the CTAC hesitated to raid there. Off the top of his head, Keith could think of at least ten guys who’d gouge his eyes out the second they learned of his mother, and five of them were part of his clientele. He’d have to be extra careful about being seen with his knife—others might have seen Galrans with a similar one and would do the easy math.

Shit.

“Thank you, Shiro,” Keith said. He looked up to meet the other man’s eyes. “I mean it. You always know what to say.”

Shiro smiled, the relief evident in the drooping of his shoulders. “Anytime, buddy. I’m glad you came to me.”

“I shouldn’t have, though. You’re going to be late for work.”

Shiro waved his hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I have to have two dozen sick days in my bank. The chief won’t begrudge me some time with my little brother. He’s been saying I should take a few days off.”

“You should. You work way too hard. You know you have to be careful.”

“I’m careful: I take my meds, I exercise every day, and I watch my diet. I don’t drink alcohol, I go to bed early, and I keep my stress level to a minimum.”

“Good, that’s good. I remember the doctors also saying you should take it easy. I guess you forgot about that part.”

Shiro pulled a face. “I’m taking it easy. I mean, outside of work.”

“Adam would force you to work less.”

“Yes, well, Adam always knew best, but we’re no longer together so what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” He smiled to hide the hurt these words brought. “You should work less too, Keith. I can tell you’re tired. Maybe you can take a nap? There’s that new sushi place that opened a few streets from here—we could have lunch there, what do you think?” He took in Keith’s disheveled state and coughed. “We’ll order takeout. I’m afraid none of my clothing would look decent on you.”

“Not my fault you’re built like a damn house.”

Shiro laughed, a real, carefree laugh that brought warmth to Keith’s chest. He smiled, unable to stop himself. For a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care about his parentage or about Allura or about anything else. For the moment, he’d just enjoy being with Shiro.

He’d thought Shiro was a very nice bloke until he bullied him to take a nap. Keith was sleepy after the morning’s adventures, it just seemed unthinkable that he’d fall asleep under Shiro’s roof, and even more in Shiro’s  _ bed _ . Because, of course, there would be no talk of napping on the couch. Shiro insisted he slept in the bedroom where he could close the door and therefore not disturb him. Keith wished he could say he’d fought harder. He gave in pathetically easily—he was indeed tired and Shiro could be convincing, and he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t relish the thought of sleeping in Shiro’s bed.

Shiro escorted him to the bedroom, leaving him bundled in the blanket. He said there were extra ones on the shelf in the wardrobe. He showed him how the bedside lamp worked and made him promise that he’d come to him if he needed anything else. When he finally closed the door on his retreating back, Keith’s face hurt from smiling so much. The guy really was the poster child of the big brothers. He stood there for a moment, relishing that small peek into Shiro’s personal life. Keith had been here before, of course. He’d visited the flat when Shiro had moved in after his more or less official breakup with Adam. He’d peeked into the bedroom without actually ever walking in. Shiro would have allowed it, it had just seemed impolite to do so without being invited to first. So Keith looked around at the unsurprisingly bare walls, perfectly made single bed, perfectly folded and ironed uniform on the top of the bureau, and the featureless furniture. All of it was very utilitarian—it had come with the flat, he supposed, for none of it quite reflected Shiro’s personality. Keith supposed Shiro had acquired this place thinking it would be only a temporary shelter until his  _ break  _ with Adam healed itself so they could live together again. It had been what, four years now? The place suited Shiro fine so it had probably never crossed his mind to move.

Keith turned down the sheets and sat on the bed. The mattress barely sank beneath his weight. The sheets were soft, the finest cotton. He pushed on the pillow to test it—soft and fluffy, just enough to properly support the head and neck. On the bedside table was a novel with a bookmark stuck between the pages—only the rich could afford to buy real, paper books. Keith touched it gingerly, feeling the slightly rough texture of the heavy cardboard cover.

Beside it was pillbox full of colourful pills, all of the small, daily boxes perfectly identified. Shit, Shiro had to take at least ten pills a day, and that was without counting every other med he had to inject or drink. Keith’s breath hitched at this. Shiro was sick—he’d been dying for years, the inevitable pushed back only thanks to an overly rigorous medical regimen. If the doctors were right, Shiro only had two good years left before his body started failing him. After that, it was a downhill slide towards a quick death. No amount of medicating and physicking or wishing could stop the unstoppable. Shiro had gone to every specialist dealing with the Becker Muscular Dystrophy disease and, every time, the diagnostic had been the same: death. Some said it was a small miracle he’d made it to twenty-nine. Next year, he was probably going to be discharged from the police, too young to have a pension—he’d been saving since his first day on the force for that eventuality, apparently.

Suddenly feeling terrible, Keith laid down after turning off the lamp. In the warm darkness, he tried to make sense of the fact that Shiro wouldn’t be there to celebrate his thirtieth birthday, that he probably wouldn’t be there when Keith had finally made enough money to move to upper town. This was taking too long—he had to have that money sooner. Suddenly, the distant goal seemed that much more pressing. When Shiro weakened, he’d need someone to help him. First, it would be small things like lifting heavy stuff, but eventually, he’d need someone to cook and clean the house and every other tiny aspects of daily life that were so easy for healthy people and, finally, help him move around, perhaps feed him. Adam had known this was the endgame, and he had lost his nerve. Keith had more or less guessed their breakup had been about Shiro’s health, as everything in their relationship had been. Adam couldn’t bring himself to watch the man he loved slowly die. It had made Keith furious when he’d been younger and a part of himself still resented Adam for it. Adam was abandoning Shiro in his greatest hour of need as if all they had shared no longer mattered. Keith knew the reasons ran deeper than that—Adam was no coward to quit without a fight. Ultimately, the reasons why these two had broken up weren’t of his business—Keith just knew that he’d never give up on Shiro and that he’d be there up until the bitter end.

He tugged the blanket under his chin, revelling in the familiar scent. There was no sound coming from the rest of the apartment—Shiro was too respectful to be noisy when his guest was sleeping. He was glad they were going to be spending the day together, on their own for once. Keith decided a one-hour nap would be enough. He didn’t want to waste more time that he could be spending with Shiro.

-

The one-hour nap turned into a three-hour nap. Keith woke up, bleary and sweating copiously under the mountain of blankets. He pushed them off him with a gasp and sat up. It took him a few long seconds to remember where he was: Shiro’s room. He ran his fingers through his tangled hair—it stood on end one side and was flattened on the other where his head had been pressed into the pillow. Great, he’d even  _ drooled _ on the pillowcase. He tried to wipe it off half-heartedly without much success. At least he no longer felt as tired as before. In fact, he felt pretty good. Much of his soreness had lessened to be barely noticeable. The cuts and scrapes on his fingers no longer stung as much. Maybe Shiro was right: maybe there were some good sides at having Galra blood running in his veins.

He adjusted his borrowed clothes to look more decent before leaving the bedroom. He found Shiro sitting in the living room, reading on his tablet. Shiro didn’t hear him coming so Keith just stood there for a second, observing the other man. It was rare to see Shiro looking so utterly relaxed: he was slouching on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants. Keith liked seeing him like that, seeing him relaxing for once. Shiro was so handsome, so loveable, so damn perfect it made Keith hurt with the yearning of being with him. He wished every day were like this one—just the two of them in a peaceful apartment, not caring about the outside world.

Shiro noticed his presence. “Oh, Keith, you’re up! Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, I did, thanks.” He walked in and sat beside the other man. “Are you working?”

Shiro shrugged one shoulder. “I’m just looking at one of the many videos taken during the attack on Emperor Zarkon’s ship, trying to make sense of what happened.”

“So, it was an attack.”

“Yes. Now we’re trying to figure out who did it and how.”

“What do you mean?”

Instead of answering, Shiro handed him the tablet. Keith pressed play on the video. It had been recorded with the PDA of someone high in the sky, probably from inside one of the ships that were accompanying the Emperor’s. There was a good view of the ground below. The ship wasn’t scheduled to dock at one of the skydocks for security reasons—apparently, there had been threats against the Emperor’s life so the police thought it better to have the ship land elsewhere, in a more secure location. On the edge of the desert, it was easy to keep every unnecessary person out of the security perimeter. The video quality was quite good—it was almost possible to see the faces of individuals in the crowd below when zooming in. Zarkon’s ship was out of focus, as if the owner of the PDA was more interested in filming the landscape. The angle changed, showing a broad swath of sandy ground and, on the edges, hints of the other ships.

Keith would have missed it if Shiro hadn’t pointed it out. As the camera moved, there was a dark spot against the yellowish colour of the sand. Shiro paused and zoomed in. The pixels coalesced into the black silhouette of a person. The person stood apart from the rest of the crowd, at the edge of the security perimeter. They appeared to be carrying an object across their shoulder. When Shiro pressed play, the camera moved away. Two seconds later, the ship carrying the Emperor and most of his staff blew up. The PDA shook so much in its owner’s hand that the image went blurry with it. It fell to the ground and the video stopped.

“So, apparently, one single person shot down the whole ship,” Shiro concluded.

“How is that possible? The ships have shields, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do. This one was activated, we checked from the logbooks. Whatever hit the ship was powerful enough to rip through the three layers of shield. Only warships have firepower powerful enough for that, and we’ve concluded that the attack came from the ground. By analyzing other videos filmed on the scene, we tried to find out what kind of explosive was used. Nothing came up. We also got nothing on the debris we analyzed from the wreckages. Our resident chemist, Slav, said he’s never seen anything like this. It’s like a totally new element we didn’t know existed. That person who shot down the Emperor had, at their fingertips, firepower stronger than that of an ion cannon.”

“Holy shit. And are there any planets out there that have such power?”

Shiro shrugged. “It’s impossible to say, but it’s also almost impossible to know. We don’t know every species in the universe. We like to believe that the Galras are the most technologically advanced race. We cannot be sure. Emperor Zarkon received thousands of death threats every day, so we’re sifting through them to see if any can be taken seriously.”

“And what about the shooter?”

“We know very little about him. We’re relatively sure he’s a male—if only because men are more likely to commit terrorist attacks. According to the videos we got, he’s about 186 cm tall and is well-built. He wore an helmet with a darkened visor so we got no image of his face. He got through the security perimeter easily. There were DNA scans and we’ve got no match. He left footprints so we’ve tried to track down the type of boots he wore—a dead-end there too. What little evidence he left behind makes no sense to us. It’s like he’s from a totally different world than ours. Nobody in the force has ever seen anything of the likes. We’re drawing a blank, honestly.”

“So we don’t even know if he’s human?”

Shiro shrugged again. “No, we don’t. He’s human-shaped. That just doesn’t mean much in itself as it’s easy for some aliens to disguise their shape or even hide a second pair of arms.”

“I see. And why are  _ you  _ investigating this? I thought the DEA dwelled solely in drugs.”

“Yes, we normally do, but it’s a critical situation. The threat to imperial security has been upped a notch and it means all hands on deck. Nobody really cares about catching some drug-dealers while there’s a man running about with a gun powerful enough to destroy a warship.”

“Makes sense.”

Shiro laughed and turned off the tablet. “I shouldn’t even be talking about this with you—you don’t have clearance to be hearing about state secrets.”

“What am I gonna do, talk about this on the pillow with my clients? Never happening. I assure you: most of low town doesn’t give a damn about what happened to Zarkon or who sits on the throne next. We’re just sick of seeing Lotor’s face on the news.”

“Speaking of the prince, he gave a public address to the Empire this morning.”

“He said he’d do so last night. What was that about?”

“He recounted what Princess Allura told us in the mines the other day. He admitted that his father kept the Altean and Balmaran prisoners underground so they would mine all sorts of materials. He publicly apologized to them and said he had had permanent lodgings prepared for them. They are right now being housed in diverse hospitals so they can be attended to after sustaining injuries during the explosions.”

Keith pulled a face. “Really? Where is he going to put them? Low town’s getting kind of crowded.”

“Outside the city. Of course, those who wish to stay and make a living here can. He didn’t go into too many details. There’s been a quiet uproar about this all over the IG. I think people are angry at what happened.”

“Of course they’re angry. That shit’s been happening right under our nose for decades and we never saw it.”

“They’re mostly angry because the Alteans and Balmarans will be lodged at the Empire’s expense outside the city while most of them aren’t even allowed to leave.”

“Oh. Well, that sucks too, I suppose. I hope he’ll find lodgings for Allura though—she cannot live with us forever.”

“I can’t believe she’s causing trouble.”

“No, no! She’s very polite and all, it’s just that our flat’s too small to accommodate four people. It’s weird, living with girls anyway.”

Shiro offered a smile that could only be described as wicked. “Is your boyfriend making eyes at them?”

“Urgh, Shiro! For the hundredth time, Lance’s  _ not _ my boyfriend!”

“Maybe he should be—he looks like a nice guy and he obviously cares about you as much as you care about him. Didn’t you tell me his family practically adopted you?”

Keith scowled. “Yeah, that’s true, but I’m not interested in Lance! I mean, maybe if things had been different so, uh, no, really…” He trailed off, stopping himself from blurting out that he had a crush on someone else already. He didn’t want Shiro asking questions in case he couldn’t lie. “H-he’s got a crush on Allura anyway.”

“Well then, that’s too bad. He’s one man I would have trusted with my little brother.”

Keith smiled through the pain in his heart. He adored Shiro, loved him so much that it kept him up at night—he just hated being called  _ little brother _ . Over the years, he’d tried to make the other man see that he was no longer so little, that he was no longer a child. He wanted Shiro to see him as a grown-up man, as perhaps a potential love interest. This seemed unlikely to happen. Once, when he’d mentioned it, Shiro had said that he could refer to him as  _ brother _ instead of  _ little brother _ , as if the word little had been the offending one in that pet name. Keith hadn’t had the courage to argue. Adam had told him many times before that Shiro was oblivious, that if Keith didn’t spell it out for him, he’d never understand. Keith simply wasn’t brave enough to confess. He looked at what they had right now and he was happy. He feared that baring his soul to Shiro would, if not ruin, spoil their relationship. Why risk what he had for what they  _ might  _ have? Objectively, he knew Shiro would never make fun of his feelings. He’d find a way to let him down gently, but Keith knew things would be forever changed afterwards. How could they not be? He didn’t want Shiro to feel awkward around him. Or, what could be even worse, would be that Shiro, not wanting to hurt him, felt forced to confess back. It had been a scenario that had played in Keith’s mind many times, one that made a hell a lot of sense. Shiro was too kind to break his heart. Keith would never forgive himself for that. And so, out of self-perseveration, he kept his feelings to himself, agonizing over them.

He loved loving Shiro, yet some small part of him wished he could get over his childish crush. It had almost been a decade now—couldn’t he see Shiro wasn’t interested? Why was he clinging so desperately? Clinging hurt so damn much. There were other guys that Keith appreciated—well, there was Lance. Now that he thought of it, of all his acquaintances, he could see himself falling only for Lance. Not Panchito or Hunk or Adam or, heaven forbid, one of his clients, not even James with his bottomless wallet. It had always been Shiro and only Shiro for as long as Keith was mature enough to know what love was.

Shiro noticed his discomfort. “Are you okay? Your eyes went all moist.”

“Eh? Oh, no, it’s fine. Just a bit tired. There’s been a lot happening lately.”

Shiro patted his hair with his human hand. “I understand. Well, it’s nearing noon, how about I order some sushi and we watch a movie while eating?”

“Sure, sounds good.”

And it was good. Keith told himself as he sat beside Shiro, watching some over-the-top action movie while eating sushi, that yes, this was satisfactory. There would be no kiss on the lips and no complicit glances. Still, they leaned against each other comfortably and they laughed. And when Shiro tensed at some violent scenes in the movie, Keith was more than happy to press his shoulder against his reassuringly.

It was enough.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

An unusual sight greeted Keith when he reached his street: there were four sleek cars parked by the curb. It was so unusual that he stopped in his tracks, looking at them with surprise. A few low towners had gathered around, peering at them curiously. If it hadn’t been for the Galra woman armed with a gun standing by the cars, no doubt they’d have been turned to nothing more than their frames. Car parts were a notoriously lucrative business in low town, which was why most of the inhabitants preferred to go without.

The cars and the Galra woman made Keith nervous. Shiro had dropped him off a few streets away and he kind of wished the older man would have walked him to the door. Being seen fraternizing with a policeman would have dealt a blow to Keith’s reputation so he’d walked the last mile on his own, a complicated thing to do with sneakers too big for him. He pulled the hood of the borrowed hoodie over his hair, observing covertly what was happening. The cars weren’t parked immediately in front of his flat, but the woman was looking in that direction steadily. She had to be a half-breed because she didn’t have the animal-like features pure-blooded Galras harboured. She didn’t seem that tall and her purplish-blue hair was slicked back from her sharp face. Keith noticed her armour next: it was different from the one usually worn by the Galra soldiers. It bore no insignia and no hint of rank even though she clearly was a soldier. Keith didn’t like the gun strapped to her thigh.

He contemplated going around the whole block to use the back entrance when she spotted him. He froze, staring back at her, totally blowing his nonchalant cover. Shit. He debated running away before deciding to confront her. She wasn’t CTAC so she couldn’t be here to arrest him. If he were under arrest for some reason, a policeman wouldn’t patiently await his return home—he’d have been hounded throughout the city.

Keith pushed back his hood, took a deep breath, and crossed the road. The woman watched him approach not quite warily.

“You live here?” she asked, gesturing towards his apartment building. At his nod, she said: “What’s your name?”

“Keith.”

“Ah. You’re Lance Álvarez’s roommate, aren’t you? I’m authorized to let you through.”

“Is Lance in trouble?”

“No. You’ve got a visitor, though.”

“Who?”

“Prince Lotor. Please be advised that you’ll be frisked thoroughly before you’re allowed inside your apartment. I apologize for the disagreement.”

“Are you serious?” Keith asked, horrified. “Lotor’s here?! Why?”

“I believe he’s here to talk to Princess Allura. I’m not at liberty to say more.”

Holy shit, was Lance stuck on his own with Lotor and his retinue? That couldn’t end well. Keith rushed inside and climbed the stairs two at a time. In front of his door was another Galra woman wearing a uniform similar to the one the other woman wore. This soldier’s features were more Galra-like. She was tall and imposing and she looked down her nose at Keith as he approached almost cautiously. How he hated this. This place was his home—he shouldn’t have to tiptoe in fear of being torn apart. As promised, the woman frisked him professionally, patting him down. He was suddenly happy for his hurried departure of the morning—he’d left his knife under his pillow, a rare occurrence. It might have gotten confiscated, he didn’t know. Since he had nothing dangerous on his person he could use to murder the prince, he was allowed through.

Keith stepped into his apartment with some apprehension. When he spotted the guests seated around the kitchen table, he had to stand and stare. Here were Allura and Fala, dressed in Keith’s and Lance’s borrowed clothes, talking to Prince Lotor. The three of them were seated around the table on mismatched chairs. They all had a cup of tea in front of them as well as a small dish full of crumbs. They appeared to be deep in conversation, not one of them apparently minding their totally inadequate surroundings. Lotor, who was tall, was so graceful that he didn’t quite look ridiculous seated on a chair of old, unvarnished wood. He looked at ease, as if barging into his people’s home and commandeering their living space was the most natural thing to him. He laughed easily, leaning his elbows on the table while Fala recounted some story. Beside her, Allura’s face was marble-like in its stiffness. She was polite when addressed without being engaging.

In the living room he found Lance seated on the couch looking miserable. There were two other women with him, the two of them dressed like those Keith had already met. One of them had an odd, orange-ish face and what seemed like a long, colourful, tapered tail attached to the top of her head. She sat on the couch beside Lance, relaxed, chatting him up while the other woman stood aside, her bearings wary. This one appeared to be full-blooded Galran with her purple skin, dark purple hair, and yellowish eyes. On her cheeks were two darker markings that ran from beneath her eyes to her jaw. Just like the rest of them, she was tall and imperious.

The second Lance spotted him, he was on his feet, relief flooding his features. “Keith! You’re back! Finally!”

“Yeah. If I’d known we had guests, I’d have stayed away longer.”

“Why is Lance acting like he doesn’t want us around?” the Galra with the orange skin asked, pouting. “We’ve been so nice, haven’t we, Krolia?”

The soldiery-like woman said tersely: “I doubt these men appreciate us barging in on them unannounced, Ezor.”

The woman named Ezor kept pouting and whining while Lance nearly threw himself at Keith. They stood at one side of the living room awkwardly, unsure what to do.

“What’s going on?” He asked in a low voice.

Lance groaned. “Lotor arrived like two hours ago. He’s trying to convince Allura to move somewhere else, but not with the rest of the Alteans. Allura doesn’t want to.”

“So, she’s staying here?” Keith hoped his disappointment didn’t show in his voice.

“For the moment. I don’t think she trusts Lotor.” He grinned. “Good girl!”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I hope she doesn’t. And who are these women?”

“The chicks? They’re all Lotor’s bodyguards or something. They’re probably more like his harem if you want my honest opinion.”

“Your jealousy is showing, Lance. Did Lotor say how long he planned to stay?”

“Meh, he won’t budge until Allura’s thrown him out, I suppose.”

“Jeez, why did you even let them in in the first place?”

“Duh, look at them? Do you think I stood a chance at stopping them?! Aren’t you supposed to look after me? Where were you anyway?”

Keith scoffed. “Whatever. I was with Shiro. I didn’t know you’d get into trouble the second I left you alone.”

Lance wiggled his eyebrows. “Ooohhh, Shiro??” At Keith’s warning glare, he laughed and shook his head. “Okay, I’m not asking. Well, I suppose we have little choice to wait for them to leave.”

With a good nonchalant façade, Lance sat back on the couch to resume his senseless talk with Ezor. Keith didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t like being cornered like that. The two female bodyguards kept glancing at him as if they expected him to cause trouble. He’d have cloistered himself in his bedroom if that hadn’t meant leaving Lance alone with these people. He itched to check on his knife—had the Galrans done a sweep of the place when they’d first arrived? If so, had they seen his knife? Had they  _ taken _ it? Worry made it difficult to swallow. Both Allura and Shiro had made it clear that this knife marked him as half Galran so how would it be interpreted by these people? He doubted they’d care about his lineage, not when their prince was also of mixed blood. Would they care about  _ how _ he’d gotten it? The knife looked expensive, not the kind of cheap trinket that could be easily acquired at a flea market. Would they think he’d stolen it from one of their brethren? He itched to ask Lance if his room had been searched. He’d have to wait—if he mentioned it within earshot, it would only bring attention to it.

Instead, he sat on the free chair stiffly. The woman, Krolia, kept glancing at him. The lines of her body were tensed, making him wonder if she considered him a threat. He made sure not to make eye contact in case she wished to initiate a conversation. From the kitchen came the steady voices of Lotor and Fala, and, occasionally, Allura. It was easy to guess that she wanted little to do with the prince. Lotor’s sudden interest in her was odd to say to least—it didn’t seem like the mere interest of a man towards a comely woman. He was going out of his way to ingratiate himself to her. Not content to bring her flowers like an ordinary bloke, he swore to look after her people, assuring her that it was also a selfish gesture because he wanted to learn more about his Altean parentage. Keith wondered what Allura could tell him: she’d been living down these mines for years now. He could probably learn more by himself by reading books or asking older aliens who’d known of planet Altea. Keith almost felt bad for her—he knew the feeling of being on the receiving end of undesired advances.

To distract himself, he took out his PDA.

As soon as it was out of his pocket, Krolia said: “Please, put that away. Prince Lotor wishes that no communication devices be used in his presence.”

He glared at her. “It’s a work tool.”

“How so?”

“I’m a class-three prostitute—I need my PDA to check my agenda.”

Krolia’s expression went weird at this. Her lips twitched and she looked away, perhaps in disgust. Keith gritted his teeth, trying not to take the bait. What did he care what some Galra woman thought about his job? He fiddled with the PDA, unsettled by the whole situation. There was no new request for him. In fact, the two that had been scheduled tomorrow had been cancelled following the client’s wishes. Frowning, he remembered that the two guys were part of the underworld—one trafficked in weapons and the other one in illegal food. Keith wondered if this had to do with his short appearance on telly. He’d known that some clients wouldn’t like him being high profile or being linked to the police in any sort of way. And, like an idiot, he’d been wearing Shiro’s jacket with ‘police’ plastered over the back. Bloody hell. What would he do if his clients started pulling away? He had some guys who owned legit businesses—that didn’t mean they’d like him being associated with the police either. Nobody liked law enforcement in low town, not even those who had nothing to fear from it.

Eventually, Prince Lotor decided to call it a day. His bodyguards returned to him as he bid Allura and Fala a good evening. As she left, Krolia threw Keith one last glance. She didn’t speak up so Keith didn’t either, simply glad to be seeing the back of them.

Once the door closed, Allura heaved a sigh loud enough to be heard from the living room. Fala talked to her in a low voice, sounding concerned.

The second their unwanted guests were away, Keith bolted for his room. Lance had made the bed so he tore at the blankets and shoved his hand under the pillow. There it was—he pulled the knife out. Tension eased out of him. It was exactly where he’d left it, untouched. He shoved into the waistband of his pants, unwilling to be parted from it again. It had been stupid to leave it behind when he left this morning—he knew better than that.

When he rejoined the others, three pairs of eyes fell on him.

“What?” he scowled.

“Allura was wondering—” Lance began.

“I can deliver my own messages, thank you Lance,” Allura cut crisply. She stood from her seat at the table. “Keith, I was wondering if we might trouble you for another couple of days. I’m afraid Prince Lotor’s lodgings are not quite suitable for Fala and me.”

Keith didn’t like the pompous tone she was using. She had an accent that made her sound snooty, imperious, like they were all her subjects. He bristled at being addressed like a servant. If he hadn’t seen the cracks in her armour, he would have thrown her out on her ear. Allura was shaken. Whatever had happened with Lotor had unsettled her. Neither Fala nor Lance seemed affected by what had unnerved her. It was clear she didn’t want to be indebted to him personally. She didn’t want to live wherever he’d found. What choice did she have but stay here with Keith and Lance? She didn’t know anybody else in the city except for those who had been with her in the mines, and those folks were scattered throughout the hospitals of Neo-Metropolis.

No matter how rude she’d been, Keith didn’t have it in his heart to refuse her asylum. He knew Lance would never forgive him if he did—not out of some misguided need to be chivalrous in front of a pretty lady, simply because this would be a rotten thing to do. Lance was too nice for his own good.

“You can stay here,” he said, looking at her in the eye. “We aren’t animals to throw out homeless guests.”

He could tell she understood his meaning.  _ I won’t throw you out even if you think my Galran blood justifies your hatred of me. _ Fala beamed, clapping her hands in joy and apparent relief. It was difficult for her to keep her front of carefree happiness too, Keith could tell. She was being strong for Allura and he respected that. He liked her so he decided it was more for her sake that he was allowing them to stay.

“Thank you so much!” Fala said, heartfelt. “I was thinking that maybe I could cook for all of you tonight?”

“Do you know how an oven work?” Lance asked teasingly.

She batted her long, dark eyelashes at him. “Surely you’ll teach me? I’ve only ever cooked over campfires after all.”

While Lance and Fala flirted together, Allura rested her hand on Keith’s elbow and tugged him away. From up close, he saw the lines of stress dug deep into the brown skin of her face. Allura looked to be twenty, yet the wisdom in her eyes reminded him that she’d been alive for a long, long time. She’d been a leader down in the mines and Keith didn’t think it was because she had been a princess on her own planet. There was steel in her spine and determination in her stance. Keith might have grown stupidly fond of her if it hadn’t been for her obvious mistrust of him. He liked people like her, serious people who could handle themselves and who didn’t crack under the pressure. Lance was like that, in a less obvious way, as were Shiro and Adam.

“Keith,” Allura began after taking in a deep breath. “I do not wish to be at odds with you. I want to apologize for my behaviour this morning. It was very wrong of me to be this impolite to you. I have no right insulting you in your own home. It is simply difficult for me to accept the fact that I might owe my life to a Galra.”

“You don’t owe me anything and I’m not a Galra. I’m just myself, all right? And for the record, not all Galras are bad—you were just stuck with a bad bunch. I just had this conversation with a friend, by the way.”

She looked puzzled for a second, then her eyes widened. “Oh. You didn’t know.”

“No, I didn’t. I knew I was a half-breed, I just didn’t know what made up my other half.”

“I’m so sorry. That’s certainly not how one wishes to learn about their parents.” She rubbed her forehead. “I won’t ask your forgiveness. I’ll try earning it in time.”

“I don’t really care about this. Can I be honest with you?”

“Please.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Your presence here endangers Lance and me. Having the attention of Lotor directed on us isn’t good. Low town isn’t a forgiving place and we do business with people here. These people knowing that a Galra prince pays us visits hurt our business. I wouldn’t go as far as saying that it puts us in physical danger, but it does complicate things for us. Mind you, I won’t throw you or Fala out. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like.” He waved at her, encompassing her whole body clad in borrowed men’s garments. “We’ll find you better clothes and we’ll help you as much as possible. Lance’s a good guy, he wouldn’t want it any other way. It simply would be better if Lotor didn’t come back.”

She weighed his words for a moment before nodding. “I understand. We don’t wish to cause any trouble for anyone here. I simply have a hard time trusting Prince Lotor. It’s not because he’s half-Galra, mind you.” She hesitated. “I simply cannot fathom him. I cannot make sense of his motivation. He claims wanting to help out of the goodness of his heart and I have no idea whether he’s being honest. I suppose I’ll believe him once he shows me this place he’s had built for us Alteans and Balmarans.”

“When will he show it to you?”

“In a fortnight. He says it’s not quite ready yet. Furthermore, a lot of my people are still recovering in hospital. In the meantime, he says he’ll drop by a few times to make sure I’m alright.”

Keith sighed. “It’s to be expected. He’s trying to woo you, you know?”

Allura wrinkled her nose. “Surely not.”

“That’s what it looks like, I assure you. I’m pretty sure that’s half the reason why he’s being so insistent. Were those lodgings he’d found for you close to his own home?”

“Yes, I believe they were.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t trust easily so maybe I’m the one at fault here.”

“Lance does and he dislikes the prince. He’s got a good dickhead gauge, believe me. He’s rarely wrong about people.”

“Oh. So you think I should be wary of Prince Lotor?”

Keith shrugged. “I think you should do whatever you want, lady. I just don’t want any trouble.”

“Well, then, maybe it would be best for Lotor and I to meet elsewhere.”

“Yeah, it would. On the other side of the bridge would be best—people like the Galrans over there.” A thought occurred to him. “I’ve a friend over there, Pidge, she could help you. She’s trustworthy.”

Allura smiled a little. “I’d be delighted to meet her, then. I’ll let Prince Lotor know we’ll be meeting elsewhere from now on, then.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pink PDA. “He said he wanted to keep in contact.”

“He’s really got it bad for you.”

“I really don’t know what to think of that…”

“I’d say find yourself someone better. Anyway, I’ll let you go—I’ve work to do.”

“Work?” Allura asked, puzzled. “Do you work in a restaurant like Lance?”

Ah, so she didn’t know about their real business. “No. I’m a whore.”

“Oh. We had those in the mines,” she said, blushing slightly. “Very well, I’ll leave you to your… work, then. Thank you for your time, Keith. I promise we’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -Drug use

Even if Keith was getting tired of James Griffin, being with him was preferable than being stuck in his apartment with Fala and Allura, so when Griffin more or less aggressively demanded they see each other that night, he’d accepted.

James was needlessly rough with him, shoving his face into the pillow, pulling his hair, and leaving bite marks everywhere he could reach. Keith went with it, preferring this side to the sappy one even if he knew it meant he’d have to play the shrink later on. He allowed James to think he had the upper hand, allowed himself to be manhandled for the simple fact he charged an extra for this. Had James been any other client, Keith would have long ago punched him and walked away. He knew James though, kind of trusted him to an extent, so this was fine. The teeth imprints on his skin would fade in a matter of days and the bruises on his hips were simply a nice remember of a fun evening.

“My father wants me to get married,” James said sadly later.

They were seated side by side on the bed, smoking the pot Keith had brought. The air around them was hazy and acrid with the smoke of the drug. Keith had made sure his own blunt had more tobacco than pot in it, not wanting to get stoned too fast.

He sighed at this—of course. He’d known by James’ behaviour that there would be bad news. He didn’t know what to answer. Should he commiserate? Should he be happy? No, happiness wasn’t the way to go—James was clearly miserable about this for some reason. He took his time before answering, taking a drag on his blunt before setting it back down on the ashtray between them. The bed was a mess, all the blankets and pillows thrown to the floor. The only light came from the fluorescent neon in the bathroom, plunging the rest of the room in the gloomy half-light.

Keith rubbed his forehead and said: “Uh.”

“Yeah, uh, genius. He found out about us.”

This would have made Keith laugh if not for  _ whom _ James’ father was—Peter Griffin knowing you existed was never good news.

“How?”

“He’s the one paying my bills. He saw my credit card receipt.”

Keith relaxed—his name wouldn’t appear on a credit card receipt. The disbursement would be listed under  _ Neo-Metropolis Prostitution Services  _ alongside the amount paid.

“Why does he care? You’re not doing anybody harm. I bet every rich boy like yourself pays for the services of a whore.”

James scowled. “Yes, for a class- _ one _ prostitute!”

“It doesn’t say on the receipt. Your father shouldn’t know.”

“He isn’t stupid. What I pay for you in a month is what it costs to have a class-one prostitute for an hour.”

This was a tad of an exaggeration, but Keith understood the point nonetheless. Still, he couldn’t really bring himself to care much. If anything, he was a bit irked to be told that it was James’  _ father _ indirectly paying his salary.

“So, he wants you to get married because you sleep with me?”

“No, of course not, it just hastened his decision. He’s been pestering me about this for months now. He wants grandchildren as soon as possible so he can groom them.”

“I see.”

James was upset because, once he got married, he wouldn’t be able to see Keith anymore. When told that many rich husbands still paid for a little fun on the side, he said that his father wouldn’t allow it because he feared it would tarnish their family’s reputation. Reading between the lines, Keith knew it meant it would have been all right if he’d been a class-one prostitute. The Griffin men deserved only the best, even when it came to bedmates. It didn’t matter much to Keith whether they could see each other again. On a personal level, James brought him little more than annoyance. On a professional level, James brought him a nice, steady inflow of cash. He was also safe to be with, an all right lover, and one of the few clients who cared that Keith received as much pleasure as he gave. It also helped that he was handsome. Losing him would be a blow that Keith could deal with. It just sucked that it had to happen right now, when he’d been counting his money and eyeing some flats in high town to be closer to Shiro.

“I barely know the girl he wants me to marry,” James huffed.

“I thought you rich people all knew each other.”

“Yeah, I know  _ of _ her. I’ve talked to her three or four times in all my life.”

“Why does he want you to marry her then?”

James shrugged. “For connections, for money, that kind of thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t.” Keith took a drag on his blunt. “That’s not how we do things on our side of the bridge, thankfully. You’re a grown-ass man, James. Just stand up to your father and tell him to go fuck himself.”

“Maybe I’ll do just that.”

Keith tried to imagine James doing just that and failed miserably. This wasn’t due solely to his bad imagination—James was too whipped to talk back to his father. The way he talked about him, Keith was pretty sure that James had always been scared of the older man. Peter Griffin seemed to be a very harsh, demanding father who didn’t mind resorting to all kinds of tricks to bend others to his will. He was as ruthless a lawyer as he was ruthless as a father, which didn’t help James who had the misfortunes of being both his son and his employee. The way Keith understood it, he worked for his father while completing his schooling. Changing jobs was almost impossible: no other firm would touch the disgraced son of Peter Griffin with a ten-foot pole. James’ best option at the moment was to move away from Neo-Metropolis, and even that wasn’t a guarantee of success. His father’s influence stretched far and wide, after all.

This kind of behaviour was something Keith didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense to him that a parent would be this needlessly harsh to their child. He’d seen the way Lance’s father acted with his own children: all patience and kindness. Lance’s brother Luis also had children with whom he acted gently, using discipline only when necessary. Panchito’s father, Uncle Pedro, reminded Keith a bit of James’ father. He was cruel and uncaring of his son, using him to his own ends.

Keith’s own father had been nothing like that. From what Keith could remember of him, he’d been gentle, patient, involved, and kind. He’d helped Keith with his homework when he had time. They’d eat their supper together at the kitchen table, talking about their day. On the weekends, they’d explore the desert on the back of the hoverbike. Keith learned about trees and plants and the wildlife of his surroundings that way. Sometimes, at night, when the skies were clear, they’d sit together on the roof of their small home to gaze at the stars. His father had learned all their names. He could recognise the different constellations and he’d point them out to a young Keith, telling him stories about them. Keith had never, ever been afraid of his father the way James or Panchito were. If anything, he’d been a synonym of safety, a giant amongst men who’d do anything in his power to protect his son. At seven, he’d been Keith’s hero, a fearless fireman ready to sacrifice his own life to save those in need. He’d been both mother and father to his child, no duty beneath him. He’d cuddle with Keith at night after a nightmare and cook him breakfast in the morning and show him how to do the dishes. He’d taught Keith not to be afraid to be alone even after nightfall, that there were no ghosts or monsters hiding beneath his bed. Whenever Keith had timidly asked about his mother, his father had answered patiently with a gentle glow to his face and his eyes turned towards the sky. His fascination for the endless universe had been transferred to his son. Keith had wanted to be a pilot to explore the stars, to see what was so fascinating about them.

“Your father shouldn’t treat you like that,” Keith said, lost in memories of his own father. “It’s not right.”

James threw him a surprised look. “What?”

“Parents should be kind to their kids. I know I’d be kind to my kids if I ever had any.”

James said nothing, contemplating this. Keith’s words seemed to puzzle him, as if he’d never quite grasped the way adults should behave towards children. It was kind of sad—James would probably be a much better person if he didn’t have his father constantly looking over his shoulder.

“Maybe I should move to low town,” James said wistfully. “I sure as hell know my father would never come looking for me here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—you wouldn’t last a day. You’d get robbed on your first walk. You scream rich boy.”

“I don’t!”

“Oh, yeah, you do. I can practically smell the money off you. You’re too soft to survive here.”

“And you’re not?”

Keith snorted. “Hell, no. I’d have been dead a long time ago if I’d been soft. You don’t survive on the streets if you’re soft. I could wring your neck without breaking a sweat.”

“Could you now?”

“Yeah, don’t test me.”

James took the blunt from Keith’s fingers, put it into the ashtray, and turned towards him. There was a seriousness to his eyes that was at odds with their light banter. He leaned in to gently kiss Keith on the lips. He tasted of the pot he’d been smoking and the beers they’d shared before that. With his back pressed against the headboard of the bed, Keith couldn’t move away. He opened his mouth obediently, his mind going elsewhere in boredom. What would his father think if he could see him like that, doing drugs with a man who paid to sleep with him? Making a career of lying on his back and pretending to be satisfied just to have money?

“Come on, Keith,” James breathed against his neck, “you know what to call me.”

_ Daddy _ .

Keith was suddenly immensely pleased that he’d always called his father  _ dad _ .

The nickname inevitably spurred James on.

Once they were finished, lying side by side on the unmade bed, Keith stared at the ceiling, wishing he could see the stars through it. He kind of liked James despite everything, so why was there that taste of bile at the back of his throat? Why did he suddenly want to run for the shower, wash away any traces of what they’d done? The ache in his hips no longer pleased him and he felt sick at the thought that James pretended to love him while roughing him up that way. He wished he were home with Lance watching some boring movies or with Adam listening to him talk about his classes or with Shiro teaching him some new technique or with Hunk tasting the new recipes he came up with. Hell, he wished he were home with Allura even if it meant facing her scorn. The smells of the hotel room made his nose itch—mildew and cheap soap and mouldy carpet and year-old dust.

Keith thought of his father, thought of all the times he’d said he’d become a pilot when he was grown up, thought of his approval to that plan. Suddenly, in a vivid flash, he remembered once meeting a friend of his father’s. The woman had also been a firefighter and she’d lost her leg. She’d hobbled around with a cane, apparently as happy as a bee despite her infirmity. Keith had been four or five then, too young to know of tact. He’d asked his father why she’d lost her leg. He’d told him that the burn had been so severe that it had threatened her life. She’d had to choose between dying with both legs or living with only one. She’d decided to have the rotting limb cut away so the rest could survive. Keith hadn’t slept that night, horrified and fearing he might have to do the same choice one day. His father had then explained after seeing his pale face that human beings were ready to sacrifice a lot to survive, that there was no shame in doing anything in one’s power in order to remain alive.

Was that what he was doing now, surviving? Would it be enough to justify his actions in his father’s eyes? Perhaps at first, back when he’d been on the streets. And even then, he’d had Adam and Shiro to turn to. Hell, Adam had offered to pay for his schooling—Keith could have become a pilot easily with his help. He’d turned all of that away because of his pride. His pride had taken him right where he was now: on this bed beside that man with daddy issues who thought he was in love with him. He’d had a hundred ways out and he’d never taken any one of them. It was as if he  _ liked _ being a whore.

He’d never been ashamed of his profession. To him, it was a job like any hundreds of others, with its ups and downs. It gave him a sort of freedom a job in an office or with regular hours or with a boss looming over him wouldn’t have. He’d  _ chosen _ this over and over again, telling himself he needed more money. And he did, damn it. He focused on that, attuned his mind to the sight of green bills. Every second spent with James, every second spent with every one of his clients, was for money.

And the money was so he could move to upper town. It was so he could take care of Shiro whose time was steadily running out. Shit, he was ready to do things much worse than sleep with random guys if it meant he could be with Shiro. In his mind’s eye, he once again saw all those fucking pill bottles lined up on the bedside table—a fortune worth of drugs designed to keep Shiro functioning. They weren’t even to keep him alive, not anymore. They were what kept his heart pumping and his lungs going and his muscles flexing. One forgotten pill could have dire results.

James excused himself to the shower without Keith noticing. He kept staring at the ceiling, heart thumping hard against his ribs. It had been hard to leave Shiro that afternoon. He’d wanted to spend the whole day with him just watching movies and talking and enjoying each other’s presence. Shiro had been called away urgently on some matter so Keith had left, pleased by the morning’s events and utterly unsatisfied. On the way back, he’d kept thinking that, if he’d been Shiro’s boyfriend, he’d have stayed right there at the flat waiting for his return. He’d have welcomed him back with open arms and a kiss and a few gentle words. This was what Shiro needed: someone to come home to, not coming home to his empty, cold apartment.

Keith reached for his PDA on the bedside table and looked at the time: four in the morning. All was quiet except for the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. Shiro should be in bed at that time except that, knowing him, he was probably still at work, pushing himself way too hard. Keith scrolled down the names of his contacts, thumb hovering over Shiro’s name.

His thumb twitched, initiating the call. He sat up right, phone pressed to his ear, breathing harshly. He just wanted to… to what? Make sure Shiro was all right? At four in the morning?

The line connected to Shiro’s voicemail directly. Keith listened to the familiar words spoken in that familiar voice, politely asking him to leave a message. His hand holding the phone shook. His throat felt dry. He really couldn’t be thinking of doing that right now, right  _ here _ . He should hang up. He should hang up and smoke more of that pot until his thoughts quieted. He looked towards the small bag of greenish herbs that rested innocently on the bedside table. No, a stronger drug, one to take off the edge of that pain inside his chest. Shiro’s voice was like a dagger inside his heart, twisting. Keith thought of those pills, thought of that marvellous man going home alone and slowly dying on his own.

“Hi, Shiro, it’s me,” he began, voice low. “Sorry to bother you so early in the morning. I just wanted to…” He trailed off for a second. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I was glad to spend some time with you this morning. We should do that more often. I miss it. I—I mean, I miss spending time with you, like we used to before. Maybe we could, I don’t know, try to see each other more often? If you’re not too busy, that is. I really hope you’re not at work at this hour: you know you have to rest. I should call you at work and bully you back home!” He paused again, throat tight. “I should’ve stayed and waited for you to come back. Maybe it’d have encouraged you to come home sooner? Shiro, I—” A pause as he tried to muster the strength to stop himself. “I don’t like you working such hours. You need to rest. Listen to me, all right? I know you only see me as your little brother—stop seeing me like that,  _ please _ . Shiro, I’m not little anymore and I’m not your brother. It’s just… I hate when you call me that, all right? I can’t believe I have to say this. I can’t believe you never saw it before. I-it’s so obvious and… well, yeah, it’s obvious. I’m sorry, I’m making a mess of this. It’s just… you’ve no idea how I feel right now. It’s like my whole chest’s going to explode and—and Shiro, please, please, don’t hate me okay?” What was that watery note in his voice? “I love you so, so much. You’ve no idea how you make me feel. You make me so happy. I mean, you know I love you, right? And you think I love you like a big brother? But that’s not it. Damn it, yeah, I’ve to say this. I’m in love with you, Shiro. Like, yeah, in love, like in wanting to spend the rest of my life with you. Like wanting to marry you and be there for you all the time. Do you understand? It sucks to be doing this on the phone I just… I can’t keep it inside anymore alright? I love you with all of my heart. Shit, I’ve been loving you since I was fourteen. Hell, I’ve probably fallen for you the second our eyes met back in that shitty room at the youth centre. You were so nice to me, Shiro, you’ve no idea. You were the only one who  _ saw _ me, who treated me like I was a human being, not like some trashy kid. Even when I got into trouble at school, you never gave up on me. You kept helping him no matter what I did. What was I expected to do but fall for you, Shiro? You’re so kind and so warm a-and yeah, you’re so bloody handsome but that hardly matters because what matters is how nice you are. I didn’t think nice people still existed back then. I’m glad you proved me wrong. I’m glad you stuck by me. This is stupid—I shouldn’t be spewing all that at four in the morning, I just—it needs to get out. I need you to know. I don’t expect anything out of this, okay? If you don’t feel the same way for me that’s fine. Just, just don’t hate me, okay? Don’t think less of me, please, I couldn’t bear that. That’s—yeah that’s about it. Shit, I’ve been rambling for ten minutes. I love you, Shiro, that’s all I wanted to say. Just… uh… call me back, okay? Take care.”

Keith put down the PDA, shaking slightly. He looked at the backlit screen, disbelieving. Sheer panic engulfed him—shit, shit, what had he just done? Had he really just confessed to Shiro  _ over the fucking phone _ ? How could he be so bloody stupid?

Even as he remonstrated with himself, Keith knew it had been the right thing to do. The suspension, the uncertainty, it had been killing him. He felt it now; a new weightlessness. By spilling the truth, a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. At least Shiro would now know of his feelings. No more half-truths between them. What Shiro did with this was up to him. If he returned Keith’s feelings, it was all for the best. Otherwise, well, Keith had no idea what would happen otherwise. He didn’t know what he wished to happen. Would it be better if things went on as before or if Shiro distanced himself? Either option hurt like hell. Keith realised that two times out of three he got out of this with his heart torn into pieces.

Shit, he wished he’d handled this better. What kind of idiot confessed over the phone, confessed to a damn voicemail to start with?

He put his PDA to the side, dreading hearing it ring. For a moment, he’d been so absorbed in this that he jumped when he heard the bathroom door open. He’d completely forgotten about James.

His anguish must have shown on his face because James looked at him worriedly as he sat on the bed. “Is everything all right?”

_ No, it’s not. I just confessed over the phone to the man I’ve been in love with for half my life. I might have ruined our friendship. I might have ruined what we had. And I’m relieved. I don’t understand it. _

Instead, he shook his head and said: “Yeah, it’s fine.”

James looked at him with uncertainty before shrugging. He had to be stoned or he’d have pried further. Keith wanted Lance right now, not James. He wanted Lance with his big smiles and reassuring presence and gentle heart. Lance would understand because he’d known Keith the longest. One look at his face and he’d have known.

Keith allowed James to cuddle with him until he fell asleep. Once sure that the man was sleeping, he got out of the bed to take his turn in the shower. The warm water did little to ease his troubled mind. His head was full of Shiro. He feared what would happen of their friendship. What if Shiro decided the best option to do was to cut all ties with him, perhaps in a bid to spare Keith’s feelings? Keith didn’t want that—he wanted to be there for Shiro till the bitter end. Hadn’t Shiro said he’d always be there for him?

The only thing to do right now was to wait.

Wait and languish.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The remainder of the story will be posted this evening.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks without any news.

Keith vented his frustrations and fears and anguish on training droids. The place he used to visit had been destroyed during the explosion and finding another one that still stood had proved difficult. Thankfully, being friends with two very smart, very tech-savvy people had knacks: Pidge and Hunk had built him his own training hall in the plant they’d acquired. There’d been plenty of unused rooms there so it had been easy to claim one for himself. His friends had seen his restlessness and they’d correctly guessed that punching and kicking stuff would help. They’d taken a day out of their busy schedule to make all that: build the hologram-makers and program the training regimens. It was a birthday present, they’d said, not a gift out of pity for his troubled state of mind.

The mats he’d found to cover the floor with were ratty and thin. Falling hard jostled his bones and often left him more bruised than getting punched. It was the perfect place to unleash, to go a little berserk away from prying eyes. He spent hours going through the different levels, destroying droids after droids.

It barely scratched the top of his unease. He had no news from Shiro. Not a call, not a text, nothing. Keith tried not to worry—Shiro needed time to process all of this. It certainly had come as a surprise to him since he’d apparently never guessed Keith might have feelings for him. Keith had toyed with the idea of asking Adam for help before backing down—he didn’t want anyone else involved in this mess. It was already bad enough that Lance wouldn’t stop asking questions, sure that Keith’s fraying state of mind was due to a bad encounter with James. He didn’t want to tell his friend the truth. He was kind of embarrassed by what he’d done, really. Confessing over the phone was something cowards did.

So instead of talking, Keith punched stuff. If nothing else, it helped him lose the weight he’d gained from over eating at his birthday. He liked training anyway so it wasn’t a burden. He just wished that tension would break—he feared he’d snap with it.

Everything had grinded to a standstill. Even the political situation appeared to have somewhat stabilized: whatever was happening between Lotor and Sendak was taking place behind the scenes. Allura and Fala had thankfully moved in with Pidge in her parents’ apartment. The three women appeared to be getting along very well. Thanks to Lotor’s influence, Allura and Fala were equipped with the right ID and the right authorization, which made it easy for them to take the skymetro from one side of the bridge to the next. Almost every day they followed Pidge to the plant. Against Keith’s wishes, they’d been brought up to speed about the new drug they were trying to create. While Fala clearly didn’t approve, Allura was fascinated by the whole process. She listened avidly to Hunk and Pidge as they went over everything they did and helped where she could.

Keith had needlessly worried about Allura showing herself so publicly. Her face was now known as the face of the Altean princess and there were some people who didn’t like the Alteans. As it happened, the Alteans were a chameleon-like race, meaning they could change their appearance at will. They’d all stared, flabbergasted, as Allura demonstrated by shifting the colour of her skin from brown to light pink. Her features had morphed so much as to make her unrecognizable. Keith wouldn’t have known her if they’d met on the sidewalk. It made traveling throughout the city that much safer for the two women. Pidge was glad for the companionship, her parents were apparently delighted to be of help, and everybody was happy.

Except Keith. Who stewed in his own worry so much that he lost sleep at night.

It didn’t help that mood of the whole city shifted. The balance of power between the two belligerent for the throne didn’t put anybody at ease. Tensions ran high, even in low town where people usually didn’t give a damn politics. There were rumours of intergalactic fights between Lotor, Sendak, and many other contenders for the position of emperor. There were dozen Galran warlords who vied for the throne too and the inhabitants of the Earth feared them the most—at least Lotor and Sendak were known evils.

It would all have gone over Keith’s head if not for Adam keeping him updated. For some reason, this all seemed to matter greatly to the older man. Adam had never struck him as someone who took a keen interest in politics, locals or otherwise, yet he kept a close eye on all the happenstances. Whenever they talked on the phone, he’d ramble on about this or that event and what it might mean. Keith indulged him without being able to care much. Whoever sit on the throne didn’t matter to him. Much of the time, as Adam talked, it was all he could do to restrain himself from asking if he’d had news of Shiro. Whenever he wasn’t talking about politics, Adam was trying to pry him open. Even through the phone he knew something bothered Keith. He was good at prying, damn it, and more than once Keith nearly spilled it all. He’d caught himself at the last minute, finding himself blaming this person or that thing for his bad mood. He doubted Adam believed him.

This standstill, this long pause, made Keith queasy. He wasn’t a patient man. He was the type of guy to rush headlong. He liked to get things over with as quickly as possible. It was unlike him to remain poised like that, teetering between two points. He hated that, hated feeling like his hands were tied. If it hadn’t been for the sheer terror the thought of confronting Shiro invoked, he’d have crossed the damn bridge and demand answers. He kept telling himself this was self-preservation, not cowardice. At least not knowing meant there was still some tiny hope.

So Keith waited for a call. Every time his ringtone resounded, he threw himself on his PDA, both dreading and looking forward to seeing Shiro’s name appear on the screen. Lance had once asked if he’d made himself a secret boyfriend—he’d even joked this might be James. Keith had been offended by that—Lance would be a better option for a boyfriend than James might ever be. He didn’t want any boyfriend other than Shiro anyway.

He was so on edge that even his job suffered. He couldn’t relax enough with clients which made some encounters more painful than pleasurable, and he often lost his patience during drug deals. He hated this situation. It honestly took a lot of his willpower not just to plunge headfirst into alcohol or drugs. The thought of shitting himself during another detox was good incentive enough. Still, whenever he got the chance, he got drunk on his own or with other people. It was the only way he found to get some sleep, to get some peace.

This was unhealthy. Shiro wouldn’t want him to treat himself that way on his behalf. He just didn’t know how to break out of this. Dozens times a day he had to stop himself from calling Shiro, asking if he had received his message, beg him to put him out of this misery. If only he _knew_ what was going to happen, even if it were bad. The not knowing was killing him.

When he got a notification on his agenda that Wor wished to book him, Keith hesitated only half a second before accepting. They’d been exchanging texts ever since their first encounter. Wor had also subscribed to his website and, almost every night, he forwarded a ridiculously large amount of money to be able to chat privately with him. The way it worked was simple: interested men entered a sort of bidding contest and the highest bidder won an hour of webcam with him. Wor won every time. Anything could be requested of him. With him, it involved getting naked and pleasuring himself with every one of his toys. Keith had begun to look forward to these encounters—they distracted him from his woes. For some reason, hearing the alien’s calm voice soothed him just enough for him to enjoy the moment. He liked being praised, he’d realised.

When he announced to Lance he was seeing his mysterious alien client, Lance didn’t look very happy.

“Last time you saw him, you spent two days in bed.”

“It’s not because he hurt me, Lance, it’s because I was exhausted. You know it. He’s perfectly nice and safe.”

“You said the exact same thing about Griffin and I saw the bruises he left on your hips.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “James has weird mood swings. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“I know that! I just—I don’t want you to get hurt. You’ve been out of sorts lately, baby bro.”

Keith felt a tiny bit guilty at this. He didn’t want to elaborate on his state of mind so he shook his head. “I know, but that’ll help distract me, believe me.”

“And what about the money? You said you could get into trouble for sleeping with an alien. If you keep doing it, someone’s bound to notice. Even Griffin doesn’t pay you that much.”

“Wor said he had an idea to solve that problem.” Keith managed a smile for his friend. “You can come with me if you’re too worried.”

“What?! No! I don’t want to see an alien with seven dicks, jeez! Look, promise you’ll text me in three hours, okay?”

Keith pulled his jacket on. “Yes, I promise, Lance.” His eyes widened when Lance hugged him. “All right, all right, I’m not going to my death.”

It took several more minutes before Lance finally agreed to let him go. Keith couldn’t stop himself from smiling slightly—it warmed some hard part inside his chest to know that Lance cared so much. Without him, Keith wasn’t sure he’d be able to go through things. If he didn’t have Shiro, at least he’d have Lance.

Keith decided as he left his flat that he wouldn’t think of Shiro at all that night. He could resume doing so tomorrow in the morning. Right now, he needed a break. He wasn’t dumb enough not to realise his overwrought brain needed a break. He’d been losing sleep over this—even his appetite hadn’t been left unaffected. He needed to remain healthy if he wished to take care of Shiro. So tonight, no thinking, no moping around, just enjoying. Maybe things wouldn’t look so bleak afterwards.

They’d elected to meet at the same love hotel as last time. As before, Keith handed the AI at the front desk his PDA to be allowed in. Since nervousness wasn’t threatening to overtake his body, he could appreciate the place a little more. It was fancier than what he was used to, fancier even than the hotels James chose to meet him at. There was an old-school feel about the lobby with its varnished floor and wood paneling. Except for the AI, Keith spotted no other electronic devices. This looked like the décor for a period drama. This made him relax further. He liked the dark, warm colours and the lack of bright neon lights. It fitted the mood, which he suspected was the point.

The room was the same one as before. Keith confidently climbed the stairs. Meeting Wor this time felt like meeting an old friend. It was more anticipation churning in his guts than apprehension this time. If it hadn’t been for the worry nagging at the back of his mind, he truly would have been looking forward to this encounter.

He knocked on the door and walked in when bid to. The darkness inside the room was not a surprise—Wor had told him there would be no light this time either despite Keith’s protests. He stood there on the threshold for a few seconds, allowing his eyes time to adjust to the gloom.

“I really wish you’d turn the lights on,” Keith commented.

“It’s better we don’t,” came the reply from further in. “Not yet at least.”

Keith walked in cautiously, remembering the lay of the room from last time. The bathroom was to his right. There was what he’d supposed to be a desk on the left and the bed was against the far wall. He didn’t bump into anything. Once his night vision settled in, he could see the vague, darker shapes of furniture. Funny, he hadn’t noticed that last time. Maybe he’d been too nervous to fully look around.

He turned towards where the voice had come from. As expected, he saw nothing of Wor except for a black shape against the dark background. His first impressions had been more or less correct: he appeared to be as tall as a tall human man but broader. The shape of the body was different too probably because of the many limbs.

Keith stepped closer to him. Although he knew what to expect, there was no denying this was still new territory. Wor had never explicitly told him what he expected of him. Instead of waiting to be directed, Keith took the lead by extending his hand until it met fabric. The feel of it made his fingers twitch in surprise. The fabric felt ordinary, of good quality, the kind that surely could be found in any good shop on Earth. There was little heat radiating through, the only indication this wasn’t a human being he was touching.

“Are you really trying to figure out what I might look like?” Wor asked, amused.

“Kind of.”

“It’s a good improvement. You were too scared last time.”

“Yeah, I suppose I was.”

He hadn’t been scared, more dazed actually, but it seemed needless to point this out. One of Wor’s not-hand wrapped gently around his wrist, stopping his exploration. It gently caressed the thin skin there, eliciting a shiver from Keith.

“You can touch me, but I can’t touch you?” he asked.

“I already know what you look like, darling, so it’s not the same thing. Furthermore, allow me to point out that I’ve seen you naked many, many times. You look good on camera, but you look even better in person. I’d almost forgotten how soft your hair was.”

Keith leaned into the touch as the not-hand combed through his hair. He kept his hands to his sides even though he itched to reach out. The darkness, the inability to see, bothered him a little. It wasn’t scary, far from it, just disconcerting. As he stood there being petted, he felt as if he weren’t doing his job. It was still a novelty to him that a client might be content with touching him without being touched in return.

As expected, the pleasure was more than mind-blowing. Keith forgot about everything that wasn’t in the room. All his senses, his whole body, were being assaulted and he cried and shook with pleasure, unable to stop himself. It was even better than last time because there was no wariness this time.

When it was all over, it took him a long time to catch his breath. Wor had returned to patting his hair, a gesture he seemed to enjoy a lot. Keith didn’t mind—he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t appreciate it.

“What’s on your mind, darling?”

The question surprised Keith slightly. “Nothing.”

“You seem distracted. I don’t want to pry, I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

Thoughts of Shiro’s silence came unbidden. Keith stiffened minutely—he hadn’t thought of the other man for hours and, as if a dam had been opened, it all flooded back in. His breath hitched with the force of it.

He sat up on the bed, wincing, forcing the lid back close on it all. Now wasn’t the time to wallow in self-pity. He was glad for the darkness, glad for its cover that allowed him time to compose himself.

Wor touched his cheek. “Darling?”

“It’s just—it’s nothing. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong. I know humans have trouble with their emotions sometimes. They get the best of you.”

Keith scoffed. “You talk as if you never have trouble with your emotions.”

Wor chuckled. “We don’t really have emotions, darling. I’m sorry to say I cannot empathize with what you’re feeling. Can I do anything to make it better?”

Keith latched onto that piece of information, anything to get himself distracted. “Seriously? You don’t have emotions? I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

“Because… because you’re nice. To me at least.”

Wor hummed as if mulling this over. “I’m fond of you, Keith. You fascinate me. I admire your strength and your fortitude. It is doubtful that what I feel for you has a word in your language—I’m uncertain whether we have a word for that in my language either.”

“That doesn’t make things easy for me.” He paused. “What do you look like? If you don’t want to show me, at least tell me.”

“Why do you want to know? Does it matter?”

“No, but I’m asking nonetheless.”

“I’ll show you one day, when you’re ready, darling. It’s not important right now. I just want to make you feel better.”

Keith leaned his back against the headboard of the bed. Wor was standing beside it, just out of reach. He seemed honestly worried that Keith would try touching him again, as if afraid that Keith would finally guess at his appearance through touch alone. Keith had been trying actually—when Wor had been on top of him, he’d let his hands run over his body, trying to make sense of what he was feeling. It was difficult to piece it all together, especially because his mind had been overrun by pleasure. He shivered at the mere memory of it—his spent body was pleasantly numb and yet he’d go for another round without hesitation if asked.

“You should cover yourself, my love, you look cold.”

Keith tugged the blanket around his shoulders. “I’m not cold. I think I might be getting horny again.”

Wor laughed, honestly surprised. “Really? Haven’t I given you enough already?”

“Yeah. I just don’t tire easily. Must be my Galran blood.”

“Must be. Do you want me to take you again?”

“Maybe later. How do you _not_ feel?”

The question appeared to puzzle Wor. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You said you don’t really have emotions. I mean, even animals have feelings so how do you turn them off?” Keith cleared his throat. “It would make things much easier for me if I knew how.”

“It’s not a matter of turning them off and on. It’s a… characteristic of my species, I suppose. We lost the ability to feel a very long time ago. We sacrificed it so other characteristics would evolve. We _do_ feel, but only the most extreme emotions. For example, we can feel rage or passion or even sadness, but even then, it’s usually muted. We’ve decided long ago that feelings were useless, a distraction from what could be achieved with cold logic. Shutting it all of helped increase our psionic abilities. It turned us into a cruel, uncaring people. My planet is very barbaric. Although we are proud of our lack of emotions, we still go to extremes to feel anything. We customarily engage in several forms of sadism, depraved practices, ritualistic orgies, and unspeakable horrors such as extended public torture, random body modifications, and mutilations of other slave species as entertainment.”

Keith’s eyes widened at this. He stared at Wor, trying to make sense of what he’d heard. The ugly words such as _sadism_ and _torture_ felt out of place spoken in his soft, gentle voice. He tried to imagine what this all meant. Was Kaax'oits, Wor’s home planet, filled with a bunch of sadistic aliens who had fun capturing other species and then torturing them? A shiver ran through him at that thought.

“Don’t be afraid, darling, I’m not here to hurt you or any other human. I’m an ambassador, a diplomat, I’m here to negotiate with Prince Lotor on my people’s behalf. I like the humans. As I said, there are quite fascinating creatures. Your feelings are so powerful they affect even your thought process. There aren’t many species like that.”

“I’m not afraid,” Keith grumbled. He decided to be honest. “You just don’t sound cruel.”

“I have chosen other ways to cope with my sensory impairment. It is much more validating and interesting for me to bend my intellect on other matters than new torture techniques to hurt a prisoner. I leave that to my fellows. I prefer to travel across space to discover new creatures and befriend them without having to corrupt their thoughts to do so.”

“Corrupt their thoughts?”

“I can manipulate minds. For example, I could force my will on you and you’d feel compelled to do whatever I wish.”

“Ah, like mind-raping me?”

Wor scoffed. “That’s an ugly expression, but yes, it would feel a bit like a rape, I suppose.”

Keith tried to understand the extent of this. Could this even be possible? He’d never heard of such things before except perhaps in movies or in books. He wondered if he should be afraid now—Wor had just admitted he could turn his own thoughts against him. Hell, for all he knew, he’d already done it and Keith had never felt it. Goosebumps erupted on his flesh at the thought. Was this the reason why he now felt so at ease with Wor? Was it because he’d _compelled_ him to relax in his presence? Except that, if that were the case, Keith wouldn’t be thinking that way. He’d just be happy to be with him, he wouldn’t be questioning the whole thing. Jeez, this was way too complicated for him. This was the kind of thing that would fascinate Pidge.

“And can you _read_ minds?”

“No. We can communicate via telepathy. In fact, we don’t speak the way you humans do. We don’t have vocal cords. If you can understand me, it’s because I’ve had a device installed in my brain that allow me to communicate with species like yours. Even if I were capable of reading minds, yours would make little sense to me. Our thoughts aren’t organized the same. It would be like listening a language I don’t understand.”

“And everybody on Kaax'oits is like you?”

Wor chuckled. “As much as every human on Earth is like you, darling. We are one species with many differences. Amongst my kind, I’m considered an oddity. I’ve never really been into hurting others, not even my slaves. I simply don’t see the point. For me, it is much easier to elicit emotions by befriending people rather than by frightening them. Fear is so dull and monotone.”

“Can you love, though?”

Keith’s face flushed at the question. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He’d started the evening with good intentions and now, he couldn’t keep Shiro out of his mind. He glanced at his PDA on the bedside table—there was no notification that he’d gotten a call or a text.

“No,” Wor answered softly. “That’s a concept that’s foreign to us. I didn’t even know such a thing existed before I made contact with other aliens. To illustrate this with an image that might help you understand, tell yourself we are more like animals. We survive on instincts more than anything else. We have no notion of romance or friendship. Family ties don’t make sense because we are practically immortal—I cannot recall the last time I saw a child of my species.”

“Oh. So where do babies come from?”

“It takes a male and a female, same as here. Most of us are sterile, however. There are other ways to make children, of course, like by going to a doctor and having them clone your DNA. Very few of us bother with it. Females who get pregnant often get rid of the child or abandon it, especially if there’s no known… father? Yes, that’s the word you’d understand best.”

Keith wrinkled his nose. “No known father?”

“If you see a female that pleases you on the street, you are allowed to take her. She’s allowed to kill you in return, mind you.”

“Okay, that’s really barbaric.”

“Rape is a concept we don’t know of on Kaax'oits, Keith. It’s survival of the fittest. If a person isn’t strong enough to fight back, then it’s concluded they had it coming. I apologize, darling, I don’t want to disturb you with our odd ways.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Just… weird.”

“If you wish, one day, I’ll show you.”

“First, you’ll have to show yourself to me, though. Even with you capacity to fiddle with my thoughts, you won’t change my mind on that.”

There was real warmth to Wor’s laughter. His not-hand touched Keith’s face, caressing his cheek. He leaned into the touch, trying to reconcile what he’d just heard with the alien touching him so gently. Wor wasn’t defined by his blood, Keith realised. He came from a cruel people and still found it himself to be kind. He was like the Galras—they weren’t inherently good or bad.

“So stubborn,” Wor whispered softly. “I’d hate losing you because of my appearance.”

A tiny smile stretched Keith’s lips. “Shit, are you shy, Wor?”

“A tad self-conscious, let’s say. We cannot all be as beautiful as you are, Keith.”

“I really don’t give a damn about appearances.”

“Darling, there’s a difference between an ugly human and an alien, believe me.”

“Maybe you’d be handsome by my standards, eh? Your friends on Kaax'oits might consider me ugly.”

“I doubt very much anyone of any species could find you anything but gorgeous, much less my people. Believe it or not, we appreciate beauty. Being so ugly and misshapen ourselves, we tend to hold dear everything that is perfectly shaped, just like you are, Keith. We like order, things that are linear and regular. I surely cannot be the first person to tell you that you have perfect proportions.”

Keith remembered Pidge and Hunk telling him just that a few months ago. “No, you’re not. Thanks, I guess? And no matter how much you compliment me, I still won’t let go of this, Wor.”

“I hope not. It would be unlike you to let go of anything.” Wor paused then asked quite brazenly: “Have you ever been in love?”

Keith’s eyes widened in surprise at the question. For a second, he almost said that no, he’d never been in love. He didn’t want to go there, didn’t want his heart to be assaulted again by thoughts of Shiro.

Instead, he said: “Yeah. Why?”

“How does it feel? It’s a purely academic question, darling, don’t worry. I don’t wish to trap you by asking. Love is simply a subject which has fascinated me for the longest time. Others I’ve asked the same question to have never been able to answer me. I know you feel things very deeply—down to your bones, to your soul. I cannot read your thoughts, but I can somehow sense it, how you are a deeply emotional person.”

A deeply emotion personal. This was the first time a stranger was calling him that. Keith had matured enough in the past few years to admit to himself that he could be emotional, he was simply great at hiding it most of the time. Those who knew him best—Lance and Adam and Shiro—knew this statement to be true. Keith reacted to his emotions strongly—he loved fiercely and he hated with a passion.

“Love’s painful,” Keith began. He looked down at his lap, talking slowly to put words on things that couldn’t be explained easily. Anyone else asking would have been met by a refusal. He liked Wor enough to answer. “It’s painful even when it’s not unrequited, I think. And it’s different. There are hundreds of types of love. Like, I loved my father when he was alive and I love my friends and those I consider my older brothers differently. And you can love things—I love food. There are people who love their animals or their job or their car. You can love your children and your family members. Being _in love_ ’s different. It’s… deeper. It’s like when you need the other person like you need air. It’s like seeing the other person makes you happy. You want to be with them all the time and help them and make them happy. You feel it so deeply that it’s physical too, here, in your chest. Sometimes it even gets hard to breathe. The whole body yearns for the person. It’s not just physical, it’s emotional too. I… don’t know how it feels when your love’s returned. I’ve seen it, though. They’re content and mushy and they look at each other all the time. They share private jokes and they understand each other with just a look. It’s easy for them to be together. They hold hands and they kiss and there’s an intimacy that shuts out the rest of the world. When it’s not returned, it’s different. It’s painful, physically so. It’s like there’s a knife stuck between your ribs that makes it difficult to breathe. You watch the other person and you want them to be happy, but you’re angry if they’re happy with someone else. It’s not fun. It’s… bittersweet. You’re glad when you’re with the person even though it hurts.”

“You’re in love,” Wor concluded after a pause.

“Yeah.”

“And they don’t love you back.”

“I don’t know. We… we’re good friends. I don’t know what he feels for me.”

“He’s an idiot if he doesn’t love you back.”

Keith scoffed, embarrassed. “He really isn’t. My explanation doesn’t make much sense, I’m sorry. I’m not good with words.”

“No, I believe I got a grasp on it. Why do you kiss or hold hands with the person you love?”

Keith opened his mouth to answer before realising he had absolutely no idea. Why did people kiss or hold hands? Was it to have a physical contact? What purpose did it truly serve? He thought back on how Shiro and Adam had behaved as a couple: in public, they’d never touch each other. Even when it was only the three of them, they’d be careful in their displays of affection. It had all been in their eyes, in the way they looked at each other. Lance’s parents were another matter: they held hands and wrapped their arms around each other, even in public. They didn’t care who watched when they exchanged kisses. Maybe it all depended on the people involved? Adam wasn’t a tactile person—he seemed not to like hugging or touching while Shiro was the total opposite. Keith could count on the fingers of one hand the times Adam and he had hugged. On the opposite end of the spectrum, there was Lance who was deeply physical. When Keith and he sat on the couch, Lance would have a hand on his thigh or wrap his arm around his shoulders. He did that with all of his friends, touching their arm or patting their hair, just like Shiro.

“I don’t really know,” he said honestly. “I don’t see the point?”

“Hm. And you have sex with the person you love?”

“Most people do, yeah.”

“Is it any different?”

“I don’t know. It’s supposed to be different. Once again, I’m not sure how or why.”

“So having sex with different people means different emotions. Explain.”

Keith groaned. “Wor! I feel like I’m at school trying to pass some test! It’s difficult to explain and I suck with words. I… I don’t know how to make sense of it. I fuck a lot of blokes because of my job and I don’t feel much towards them. Boredom or annoyance, mostly. The one guy I enjoy sleeping with is a good friend so it’s different because it’s not as boring? No, not boring, it’s more… it’s easier, perhaps?”

Wor said nothing, contemplating this pathetic answer. Keith felt like he was confusing him more than anything. He was getting confused himself—was it weird for him not to be able to explain basic things such as the difference between fucking and making love? Urgh, Adam would have made much more sense.

“I see. If it’s boring, why do you have sex with so many people?”

“Because it’s my job, it pays the bills. Nowhere is it written you’ve got to like your job. I like it, actually, most of the time. Sometimes it’s fun like with you and sometimes it’s boring.”

“That’s why you fake. I saw it on some of your videos on your blog—you fake it.”

Keith’s face heated up. “You can tell?”

“Of course. The way your breathing hitch or your moans sound different when you’re faking. Your body doesn’t tense the same either. I much prefer when you don’t fake.”

“I don’t fake with you!”

“Oh, I know, darling, I know that. You always look very, very satisfied. It pleases me.”

“I live to please,” Keith said wryly, oddly embarrassed. “It’s true, though. I mean, I’m not supposed to say that, but you’re my favourite client. It’s not because of your money either! I—“

“Darling, your face’s all red. This is very endearing. I know exactly what you mean. I have read on your customs and on your job especially since I met you. I understand what it entails. The clients you meet pay to find their own pleasure so they neglect yours. They’re foolish—how can they not find pleasure by pleasuring you?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I suppose it is. Keith, may I be so bold as to propose something?”

Keith nodded, distracted by the sudden feel of the slightly scaly not-hand on his leg.

“You expressed concerns towards losing your licence if you kept seeing me. As I understand it, you need it to be allowed to work as a class-three prostitute. Without it, you will have to find your clients yourself. Correct? I have made some inquiries about this because I wouldn’t want you to be in trouble on my account. I don’t know if you are aware of this, but I could buy your licence from the government. It means you would only work for me. According to the rules, you would no longer be allowed to see any clients except for me. I’d pay you as I deem fit. Nobody could ask where the money came from or give you trouble for it. I’d like to do it. It is not solely for selfless reasons that I’m doing it either: I do not like the idea of anyone else touching you. I saw those horrid comments men left on your blog, and those bruises on your hips make me want to bring those who did this to you on my planet and torture them. I can be jealous and I can be petty to extremes, darling. I suppose I’m also vain in thinking only I deserve to have you. This arrangement could fit us both. Of course, it is only—”

“Yes.”

“Pardon?”

“Yes. Do it.”

This seemed to take Wor aback. “Are you sure? Do you not want to take the time to think about it? I hope you’re not feeling pressured into accepting.”

“No, no, I don’t. I—really, this comes at the right moment!”

More than the right moment. Keith could hardly believe his luck. If Wor actually bought his contract and paid him as he saw fit every time they were together, it meant nobody could question where the money came from. Of course, he’d still have to pay taxes on his salary at the end of year, he was very well aware of that fact. On the other hand, he couldn’t lose his licence—nobody would care who had bought his contract as he would no longer be under the city’s purview. Wor had been more than generous with his money so far and there was no reason to believe this would change. If things continued that way, Keith was pretty sure he could move to upper town far sooner than he had expected. Furthermore, there were many advantages to having only one client to service—one client that he liked.

“Very well,” Wor said. “You must trust me a great to allow this. Aren’t you afraid I’m going to cheat you?”

Keith looked up towards where he thought the other’s face might be. “Are you going to cheat me?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought. So, yes, I accept your offer.”

Wor said nothing for a long time, so long that Keith began to worry he might have offended him. Maybe it had been unseemly to accept his offer so readily. He was sounding greedy, he realise.

He reached out blindly and grabbed one of the alien’s not-hand. “Look, it’s true that I mostly accept your offer for the money. I’d be stupid to say no. It’s not just that. I told you: of all my clients, you’re my favourite. I… I was beginning to tire of being a whore, okay? It was getting harder and harder to fake and, well, since I was seen on telly wearing that damn police coat, a good number of my clients has started distancing themselves from me. And I need the money. I want to move to upper town.” He swallowed. “The guy I mentioned I like? He’s sick. He lives in upper town and I want to move there to take care of him.”

“Keith, you really don’t have to justify yourself. I’m more than happy to pay for your services. What you do with the money is not my business. I’m simply delighted that you’ve accepted my offer. How about we celebrate this and then we can hash out the details?”

Keith smiled his first real smile in days. “Deal.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -Violence

The next day, Keith’s profile was taken down from the city’s rectory as well as his blog. To most of his clients, it was as if he vanished off the surface of the Earth. His agenda was cleared for the first time since he was eighteen.

After eight years of whoring himself out, after eleven years of allowing men to bend him over in exchange of money or food, he could finally say it was over.

The first person he told was Adam. He called him the second his profile was taken down and told him the good news. On the holoscreen, Adam’s face looked both relieved and troubled by the news. Of course, he had to piss on Keith’s parade by saying that, technically, he was still being paid to sleep with someone, even if that was only one person. Especially that it was one _alien_. Still, he didn’t lecture too much, which Keith considered a win.

 Lance was happy for him. He’d been harassing Keith for years about this, telling him to quit, that there was enough money to be made with the drug trade. He was less happy about the deal Keith had made with Wor—he said it felt as if the alien had bought him. Keith retorted that every guy who paid for him bought him after a fashion.

“At least it’s not Griffin,” Lance grumbled.

Ah, yes, James. James deserved to be told personally. The problem was that Keith had no mean of communicating with him. They’d always interacted through his blog—they’d never exchanged their phone numbers. He hadn’t thought about this before his blog was taken down. Keith didn’t want to let him groping in the dark about what had happened. He decided that, as soon as he got a minute, he’d try dropping by the guy’s university. It was the only place he had the least chance of finding him and it was faster than just wait for James to decide to visit Marco’s club again. He was supposed to have access—Wor had requested that he be given access to the whole of upper town. This made Keith wonder just how influential the guy was to be able to request such things. It made sense that he’d be given access to the embassy district where Wor resided during his stay on Earth, but the whole of upper town seemed like a stretch. Not that Keith minded—it would make looking for a new flat that much easier.

That night, his friends threw a party in his honour. Keith hadn’t expected that. When Lance suggested they visit their plant to see what Pidge and Hunk were up to, a party had been the further thing on his mind.

He had absolutely no idea how to react when he walked into the room allocated to the creation of their drug and saw Hunk, Pidge, and Panchito standing there with huge smiles on their face. They started clapping when they saw him, cheering loudly and making way too much noise. Pidge grabbed his arm to pull him toward a side table where a huge cake waited. The words atop the inches of frosting read _Congratulations on finding yourself a sugar daddy_. Keith laughed.

“So how does such an arrangement work?” Panchito asked once the cake had been put into parts. “Are you like his boyfriend?”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “You’re really dumb, Panchito! It means he’s like his side hoe!”

“Not his main hoe? That blows! Keith deserves to be the guy’s main hoe!”

Keith barely listened to their talk, too busy stuffing his face with the cake. Hunk had thankfully not be too heavy-handed with the sugar on this one so Keith thought it was fine to eat as much as he liked. As he sat in one corner, savouring this unexpected treat, he watched Lance and Hunk talk together in front one of the computers. From what Keith saw, they were checking the progress of the REM. Or Arts, as Pidge had started calling it, _because it’s nothing short of art_. Whatever its name, it had grown steadily in popularity on the street. Thanks to the ineverium synthesized in this very plant, Pidge had been able to make the drug that much more addictive. With her help and the line of production she’d built with Hunk, they could produce a good quantity of Arts. It still wasn’t quite enough to supply to growing demand. Pidge had about one million ideas on how to fix this problem, of course. She’d set her sight on another plant, this one outside the city. Keith doubted things would go that way yet—moving illegal merchandise in and out of Neo-Metropolis was very complicated and dangerous. It was feasible with the right contacts—they just didn’t have them yet. Lance’s uncle Pedro had never wished to extend his network out of the city so they couldn’t count on his contacts. Furthermore, the head of the cartel was still in the dark about this whole operation. It was Lance’s and Marco’s little secret, the key to get away from their dangerous uncle.

When Hunk showed Lance a spreadsheet of their revenues, Lance choked on his piece of cake. Keith had already seen it. He understood his friend’s amazement: in a little over two months, they’d tripled their profits. Of course, the money didn’t just start flooding in. There were tons of expenses to be accounted for such as the acquirement of this plant—Marco was a businessman, he hadn’t just _given_ it to his little brother. A good chunk of the cash was also used to grease hands, especially those of the workers who did the legit, legal job of synthetizing the ineverium. Nevertheless, it was a nice amount of money for a guy like Lance who hadn’t been in the business a decade.

For some reason, despite Shiro’s silence, Keith felt optimistic. It still hurt and he was still distressed, but he had the sense that, at least, Lance’s and his situations were taking a turn for the better. Keith still didn’t know what he was going to do about Shiro. The silence was getting suspiciously long—even when he was very busy, Shiro had always had two minutes to call back or at least send a text. This time, nothing. Keith was starting to suspect that he’d upset the older man with his phone call. Maybe he’d try paying Shiro a visit soon, just to clear the air. Or he’d ask Adam—Adam knew Shiro best so he’d surely know what to do. This was a mess.

He checked his PDA—no new message, nothing in his voicemail box.

The room suddenly went dark. Lance squealed, a sound resembling that of an old door hinge in need of oiling. Keith’s heart leapt in his throat as he looked around in annoyance—ever since the explosion two weeks ago, electricity distribution had been fitful at best. Low town could go hours without it before it came back, no explanation given.

“Shit, Lance, stop wailing!” Pidge exclaimed. The light from her PDA’s screen illuminated her face, turning her glasses to large white circles. “It’s just a power outage!”

“I hate the dark,” Lance whimpered. “Keith, come protect your big bro!”

Keith got to his feet, rolling his eyes. He heard a noise, just a tiny scuff, coming in the direction of the corridor. They were supposed to be on their own, all the employees had left at the end of their shift as usual. The entry doors had been bolted shut for the night. Nobody had the key except for Lance, Pidge, and Hunk. Keith remained where he was, straining his ears. He crouched slowly, putting his empty cake plate on the floor, trying to listen. There it was again, that sound, a scuff like of leather against stone. Like a shoe sole on concrete floor.

No, many shoe soles.

Heart hammering inside his chest, Keith unsheathed his knife and inched towards the door. It had been left wide open. At the other end of the corridor was the large production room where the employees worked. This room was equipped with emergency lights in case the power went out. They provided the dimmest light this far down the corridor, just enough for Keith to spot a few moving silhouettes when he peered out. Shit, shit, what was happening? This wasn’t part of their small celebration party, that was for sure.

There was a metallic sound like that of a steel ball rolling on the floor. Light and pressure exploded in every direction, blindingly white. Keith barely had time to raise his arm to protect his eyes that he was thrown against the wall. His back hit the concrete hard enough to make him stars. Air whooshed out of his lungs as he crumbled to the ground. He blinked furiously, trying to clear his eyes. Dark spots danced in his vision, making it impossible to see. His ears were ringing from the explosion. The only thing he heard was his own heartbeat. He panted as he pulled himself to his feet slowly. His knife had been dropped somewhere and he couldn’t, for the life of him, see it. He rubbed his eyes furiously, groaning.

When he could more or less see properly, he saw again those same silhouettes he’d spotted in the corridor. They were amassed around the computers and the boxes where the drug was stored. For a second, Keith had no idea what was happening. Who were these people dressed in black? Their faces were hidden behind a kerchief and, anyway, he was too stunned to make out any clear details.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw that Lance was climbing to his feet too. Except for a gash on his forehead, he seemed relatively uninjured. Contrary to Keith though, he grasped immediately what was happening.

 “No! You assholes, it’s mine!” he yelled.

They were stealing the Arts. And not just the Arts, they were stealing the computers with which it was made. There had to be backups or whatever, but Keith didn’t think about that for the moment. All he could wrap his head around was the fact their hard work was being stolen.

He didn’t think. He rushed the nearest thief, slamming into his back and sending him crashing into the workbench. Lance was doing the same, wrapping his arm around the neck of one of the guys and pulling him away, teeth gritted in anger.

More people poured into the room, all of them hiding their identity behind masks. There had to be twelve of them and all of them were armed. Keith spotted no guns, thankfully, only knives and pipes.

“Don’t make it harder on yourself,” one of the thieves snarled.

 The guy Lance had been wrestling with got the better of him: he pulled himself out of the armlock by slamming his elbow into Lance’s chest hard enough to break bones.

What followed would have been comical in another circumstances: both Pidge and Hunk, infuriated, jumped on Lance’s attacker. Hunk wrapped meaty arms around the guy’s neck, hefting him off his feet, and Pidge kicked him in the nuts. In the meantime, Panchito bent over his cousin, tugging him out of harm’s way.

“You’re outnumbered,” the same thief spoke up, sounding annoyed. “Just stay the fuck out of your way.”

“No,” Keith said. He put himself between the workbench and the thieves. “Get the hell out of here. We’ve called for reinforcement.”

The thieves exchanged wary looks. Keith had thought this would be enough to dissuade them. Instead, it spurred them on, making him realise they were more scared of whoever had sent them to do this job than of any reinforcements.

One of the thieves lunged past Keith, shouldering him out of the way to get his hands on one box. Then, they were all moving in at the same time. Keith had no time to react that someone was grabbing him by the back of his jacket and hauling him away. He elbowed the bastard, catching him high the sternum. The grip eased and he slipped free until another hand grabbed him. He turned in the hold, fist flying and crashing into a nose hidden behind a kerchief. He pivoted on his on his heel to deliver a spinning kick to the back of the head of a thief. The man went crashing to the floor, tripping one of his comrades in the process.

There were too many to keep track of. Keith elbowed and punched and kicked. He was dimly aware of the others trying to help, even little, fierce Pidge. An arm wrapped around Keith’s neck, a forearm pressing into his windpipe. He was pulled off his feet before he had time to kick back. He yelled wordlessly, bucking in the hold. He had no leverage to push against so he reached back with his left hand, his fingers twisting into a fabric. He pulled, digging his fingernails in. he must have caught a tuft of hair because the guy holding him screamed. His grip loosened just enough—one of Keith’s foot touched the ground and he pushed back as hard as he could. The guy stumbled back, lost his footing, and had to let go of Keith out of reflex. Keith coughed, his throat hurting.

A line of silver flashed out the corner of his eye. He dodged, the blade of the knife nicking only his arm. He turned, blocking the next blow with his forearm. Hot, burning pain stabbed him in the kidney. He cried out as the foot connecting with his lower back sent him crashing face first into a wall. There was blood in his mouth and a buzzing in his ears. He could hardly breathe as he tried to steel himself against the mind-numbing pain. Someone grabbed both his arms while he was slumped against the wall, twisting them viciously. Gritting his teeth, Keith threw his head back. His skull met a nose with a sickening crunch. He wedged his foot on the wall and pushed off, slamming into the person holding him. They both fell back in a tangle of flying limbs. Keith got a punch to the jaw and a knee to the guts before he managed to roll free. Pain coruscated through his body, making it difficult to get on his hands and knees. He spat blood on the floor.

Before he had gathered his strength to get up, a steel-toe boot caught him on the temple. His vision went white. The roaring in his ears gave him the impression of standing very near a waterfall. For long seconds, Keith was sure his skull had caved in and a shard of bone had slashed into his brain. He couldn’t feel his own body, couldn’t tell where was up and down or if it was cold or hot. He panted harshly, dimly aware of his lungs expending in his chest. His vision returned first of all his senses. His eyes were greeted with the sight of pitted, grey concrete. His face, he guessed, was pressed into the floor. He blinked away the black spots that hindered his vision. Through a curtain of tears of pain, he saw the black-clad thieves taking the last boxes of Arts. The computers had already been packed away, leaving the workbench bare. Moving his head gingerly, he tried to locate his friends, hoping they were all right. There were spots of blood on the floor, some of it likely his own.

His muscles bunched as he tried to gather his arms beneath his body to push himself off. A hand pressed between his shoulder blades.

“Stay down,” Pidge whispered against his ear. Her voice was tight. “It’s not worth it.”

He didn’t even have the strength to argue. Everything hurt and the room had started spinning madly around him. The taste of blood at the back of his throat made him want to throw up. He focused on the pressure on his spine as things began to unravel. Dimly, he sensed that Pidge was crouching over him protectively. That wasn’t right, he should be the one protecting her.

People spoke, the words hardly making sense. The sounds came to him distorted, like he was underwater. His breath stuttered in his chest. Keith knew he was about to lose consciousness. He clawed desperately to stay awake—he couldn’t faint right now, not when he had people to protect. Lance? Where was Lance? Was he all right? He tried to look around the room. With his eyes clouding, he saw nothing, only blobs of indistinguishable colours against a bright white background.

There was a loud sound like a thunderclap.

Darkness swallowed him.

-

Keith woke to the sensation of floating. It reminded him of the mornings after he’d sniffed coke, the last few seconds of bliss before the sickness settled in. The way he felt so detached from his body made him question whether he’d actually stopped taking drugs. There was the taste of cotton in his mouth and his brain was in a fog. His right hand twitched minutely, his fingers touching soft fabric. Keeping his eyes closed, he moved his fingers again, trying to understand the texture. Cloth, perhaps?

A warm hand touched his forehead then his cheeks. Keith groaned, turning his head away in annoyance. He coughed, the gesture shaking his body and waking up myriads of tiny pains. He became aware of his surroundings by degree: first that he was lying on a bed, second that there was a blanket over him, third that there was a sharp smell surrounding him and, last but not least, that he’d been pumped full of painkillers. His eyelids fluttered and, cautiously, he opened his bleary eyes. A small, square room came into focus slowly: a window with closed blinds, a cushioned chair by the corner, a wheeled table, an array of beeping machines he was hooked to. His eyes followed the line of thin tubes from the machine to the back of his hand. His hand with its torn fingernails rested on a soft white blanket. Bracketing the bed on both sides were siderails.

This was a hospital bed. He was in a hospital. A good one at that judging by the quality of the equipment, not the makeshift clinic Veronica worked from. There was only the clean smell of iodine in the air. The floor had been scrubbed. Everything was tidy. Odd.

“So, you wake.”

Keith shifted cautiously on the bed, turning his head on the pillow towards the direction of the voice. Adam was standing there, arms crossed over his chest, managing to look both intimidating and reassuring at the same time. Keith stared at him, uncomprehending. What the hell had happened? He supposed he understood why he was in a hospital, he’d been beaten up pretty badly, that didn’t explain Adam’s presence here however.

“I think you have a slight fever,” Adam said. He touched Keith’s forehead again. “That silly nurse clearly hasn’t given you enough antibiotics. I told her not to be so stingy. Are you in pain?”

“N-no. What are you doing here?”

“No need to sound so offended by my presence. Next time I get a call at two in the morning saying your scrawny ass has landed in a hospital, I’ll stay in bed.”

“Adam—“

Adam sighed. He pushed his glasses up his nose. The fluorescent fixtures on the ceiling hadn’t been turned on—the only light came from a small lamp embedded into the wall above Keith’s head. It made it difficult to read the other man’s expression. His body language was eloquent enough anyway: he was tired.

“You’re at Neo-Metropolis Teaching Hospital, Keith.”

“Why? Veronica—”

“Veronica? Oh, Nurse Álvarez you mean? It’s upon her colleague’s request that we got you transferred here. Thanks to your new… _patron_ , you’ve got the best health insurance coverage money can buy. Obviously, that alien knows you tend to get into trouble a lot.”

“Lance?”

“He’s fine. A bit banged up. Nurse Álvarez asked me to tell you that he’s already back home, sleeping off the worst of it. You can text him later.”

“The others?”

“I’m not quite certain about the others. Miss Holt seems mostly all right—she’s under observation in the room next to this one. Her brother’s with her so you don’t have to worry about her.”

“Hunk? Panchito?”

Adam said nothing, pressing his lips together.

“Adam? What about Hunk and Panchito?” Keith asked, panic rising in his chest.

“I don’t know the details, Keith. One of them passed away. I’m so sorry.”

Keith stared at him in horror, unable to comprehend what he’d just heard. Passed away? As in dead? That couldn’t be. That was just not possible.

Adam grabbed him by the shoulders when he made to sit up, pushing him back down with surprising strength. “Keith, don’t be an idiot! I’ll ask, but you have to promise me to stay in bed!”

He surely would have torn himself from the grasp if he hadn’t been so weak and so out of it. Adam had no trouble at all pushing him down, keeping one firm hand on his chest so he didn’t try anything. Keith lied there, staring at the ceiling, thoughts roiling. No, no, that couldn’t be. Adam was wrong—neither Hunk nor Panchito was dead. This couldn’t be. It had just been a scuffle—the thieves had wanted the drug, nothing more. Nobody had to die for it. Had Hunk tried to protect his recipe? No, jeez, no, the guy was too smart to have thrown himself against a bunch of armed thieves, wasn’t he?

Shit, shit.

Adam must have called for help because a nurse in a white uniform walked in. She had a syringe in her hand whose content she emptied into his IV bag. Keith swore. A spasm ran through his body then his muscles went lax.

He slept.

-

“It’s the boy named Panchito,” Adam told him softly when he woke up the second time.

It took a long time for the words to make sense. Panchito. Panchito was dead. Keith’s chest squeezed like a vice so hard he could hardly breathe. His hand went to his mouth, pressing down on whatever wanted to get out. It couldn’t be. Not Panchito. This wasn’t possible, not Panchito, not that sweet lad, not—

Keith could hardly keep a lid on his emotions. His vision blurred and his breathing hitched. Adam’s hand was on his shoulder, warm and reassuring and not nearly enough. His face burned. This was stupid—Panchito couldn’t be dead. Not because of the drug. How had this happened? He couldn’t remember Panchito acting the thieves or doing anything that warranted his death. They should have stayed put, they shouldn’t have fought back. Panchito would still be alive if they’d all just let it happen.

He pressed his hot face into the pillow, thoughts whirling. The pillowcase was soaked with his sweat. The pressure building behind his eyes required some release that he just wasn’t able to offer. Adam was petting his hair, telling him it was all right to cry. Keith couldn’t cry. No tears would come. His whole body felt too hot for comfort. He was sweating through his hospital gown. He had to get out of here—he had to find Lance and the others. He couldn’t leave Lance alone with this. His cousin was dead, Keith should be with him, should offer him some comfort. Did Lance even know?

Once again, when he tried to get up, Adam pressed him back down. Whatever the nurse had injected him with still worked—he felt as weak as a newborn. He could hardly lift his arms. He mumbled something, trying to push back Adam. The PDA, he could at least call Lance, he had to talk to him—

He went under.

-

It was still dark when he woke up for the third time. He felt calmer, wrung out. Adam had climbed into the bed with him and was sleeping, one arm thrown over his chest. His glasses were askew on his face.

Keith just lied there for a few moments, digesting the news. He was too exhausted for emotions. Panchito was dead. Keith closed his eyes, remembering the awkward, chubby young man who’d been full of life only a day ago. It was thanks to Panchito that he’d met Lance. If not for him, Keith would have died on the streets, either knifed or from overdose. Panchito had made it all possible. Keith had never thanked him for that. Keith had continued treating him like the weird cousin, keeping him at arm’s length, never quite letting him in. Panchito had deserved better. He’d been a gentle soul out of place in the underworld. He was the kind of bloke who’d been home living in the bright sunlight, bringing smiles to people with his odd ways. Keith had never even gotten around to helping him out with his problem, with that girl who wanted to marry him. He’d promised and had never done anything concrete. Panchito hadn’t pressed—Panchito had adored him too much to demand. Keith remembered those brown eyes on him full of adoration like he was the greatest thing in the world. Panchito had been sweet and gentle with him, treating him like glass, always so gentle that it had sometimes driven Keith to distraction. He’d been _annoyed_ by it rather than flattered. Panchito was so nice he’d have forgiven him for it.

He was so nice Keith had no difficulty at all imagining him telling him not to seek out retribution for his murder. These things happened. They were drug dealers—no law regulated their world. They were actually lucky that they’d all made it so long without getting killed.

Keith decided he would think further on this once he was out of here. The tranquilizer used on him made it difficult to align his thoughts. They kept drifting right and left, aimless, not making much sense. He turned his head on the pillow until it rested against Adam’s, their hair mingling, black with light brown. Keith was suddenly glad for his steadying presence. He inched closer. Being this close to the other man reminded him of his youth, of the only times he’d felt safe. With all the shit he’d put Adam through in his teenage years, it was a miracle the man had stuck around. Keith was infinitely glad he had.

About an hour later, a nurse walked in to check on him. The quiet sound of the door opening was enough to wake Adam up. He jerked, raising his head and looking confused. When he saw the nurse smiling at him, he got off the bed, smoothing down his ruffled hair and adjusting his glasses on his nose. Keith was a bit amused by the ruffled, unfamiliar look on him. He let the nurse check his vitals, noting stuff on her tablet and being generally nice.

“The young lady next door asks to see you when you feel better,” she said.

Pidge. Keith nodded. “Okay, I’ll see her later.”

The nurse nodded too then left the room. Behind the closed blinds, the sun was rising slowly. The shadows were paling already, the soft light bringing thing into focus. Keith managed to sit up without help, wincing in some pain.

“What’s wrong with me?” he asked.

Adam rolled his eyes. “It’s only now you’re worrying about this? Unsurprisingly, you’re not hurt too bad. You bruised one of your kidneys so you’ll need rest and plenty of fluids. Don’t be too surprised if there’s blood in your urine. You’ve got a nice array of cuts and scratches. Your nose’s not broken, but it took a serious battering.”

“It’s nothing Veronica couldn’t have handled.”

“They needed x-rays of your kidneys and their machine is broken. Dr. Rizavi suggested you get transferred to Neo-Metropolis General where you could get proper care. Between you and me, that was the right call: it’s better to be treated in a hospital than in one of those butcher shops that fancy themselves free clinics in low town.”

“I’ve always been fine with those butcher shops.”

Adam reached out to touch the scar on his cheek. “You wouldn’t have that big thing on your face if that were the case.”

“I don’t care about my face. When can I leave?”

“I don’t know, I’m not the doctor. Soon, I’d presume. You took a good beating, but you seem to be mostly fine.”

Keith took this with a pang to his heart. He was fine while Panchito had died. This wasn’t fair—he should be more wounded, more hurt. Somehow, it just seemed so cruel that he would walk out of here with little to show for it while his friend would never see another sunrise.

“Keith, do you want me to phone Takashi?” Adam asked.

No, no, he didn’t want that. He had no idea how he would react if Shiro walked through that door or, even worse, if he didn’t want to come.

“No, I don’t want him to worry.”

Adam didn’t say anything. He looked at him knowingly, like he sensed this wasn’t the real reason. Keith kept his gaze firmly planted on his lap, refusing to meet the other man’s eye. He didn’t want to talk about this, not right now. It was all such a mess. Keith felt hollowed out, like some vital organ had been torn from his body. He didn’t understand what was going on. He didn’t understand what he should do or how he should act. He wanted to get out of this hospital, out of this place that smelled so horribly sterile. He wanted his own bed and his flat.

A young woman walked in, smiling brightly. She wore a white lab coat over blue hospital scrubs and carried a tablet in her hand. Adam got up to talk to her. She looked familiar for some reason—the ponytail, he’d seen it somewhere else. She exchanged a few words with Adam, still smiling, looking totally in charge of the situation. Judging by her garb, Keith supposed she was a doctor despite her young age. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say she had to be about as old as he was.

“Hi, Keith!” the doctor said, turning towards him. “I’m Dr. Nadia Rizavi. We meet at the strangest places, don’t we?”

So he hadn’t imagined it. “Uh, we do.”

She winked at him. “You’re not as hot as the last time I saw you though!”

The words brought back a memory: a crowded club and a young woman buying beers for her friends calling him hot, then swaggering away to her table. Oh. This was the same gal from Marco’s club, the one who’d been with James.

“You’re a doctor,” Keith said dumbly.

“An intern, if we want to be precise. I’ve been handed your case.” Rizavi glanced at her tablet. “So, we got a few nasty bruises and a banged up kidney. How are you feeling this morning?” Without waiting for his answer, she checked the machines hooked to him and the bag of pee that hung from the siderail. “Uh, still kind of brownish.”

“Yeah. Can I go home now?”

“I’m afraid not, my friend, at least not until your urine’s cleared of all traces of blood. Tomorrow should do it.”

Keith groaned. “I’m friend with a nurse, she can look after me.”

“Veronica Álvarez you mean? She’s a good nurse, but her hands are full at the moment. She said it’s better if you stay here anyway.” Rizavi pouted. “You don’t trust me to take care of you?”

“It’s nothing personal, I just want to go home.”

“Keith,” Adam intervened, exasperated. “Don’t be difficult. If the doctor says you can leave tomorrow, then you’ll leave tomorrow.”

“Yes, listen to your friend here,” Rizavi said with a smile. “I know you want to go home, but I want to give you the best care possible. You cannot leave until I discharge you so don’t try anything.” She wrote on her tablet with a stylus. “I’ll have a nurse take your vitals and remove the catheter. You should be fine peeing on your own. You can also shower—you look a bit icky.” She turned to look at Adam. “Can I have a word with the patient, please. Mr. Wagner? You can grab yourself a cup of coffee from the canteen down the corridor.”

Adam puffed up with righteous anger. “I’d rather stay.”

Rizavi pushed her glasses up her nose. “Sir, you shouldn’t even be here. It’s family only. Don’t be difficult.”

“Adam, go,” Keith cut before Adam had time to protest. “It’ll be fine.”

Adam looked between the doctor and him, huffed, then left.

“What’s so wrong you couldn’t say it in front of him?” Keith asked once the door had closed.

“Nothing. What I have to say is not about your medical condition. I want to talk about our mutual friend.”

“Mutual friend? James, you mean?”

“Yes, James.” Rizavi suddenly looked a tad less friendly as she secured the tablet under her arm to shove her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “He’s been my friend since college. I’m fond of him, even if he can be exasperating at times. He’s broken-hearted because a certain someone hasn’t been in touch.”

Keith could hardly believe his ears. “I’m no longer a whore. He was a client, nothing more. Why would I keep in touch with him?”

“He seems to think there was more between the two of you.”

“That’s not my bloody problem! Look, I won’t deny that he was a good client. I’m out of the business however.”

Rizavi shrugged. “All right. You’ll tell him to his face—I don’t want to watch him mooning over some floozy for the rest of his life. He deserves better.”

“W-what? No! Look, we communicated through my blog—it’s been deleted. There’s nothing I can do.”

“I told him you were here. He’ll stop by later.”

Keith groaned—the last thing he wanted was to have a showdown with James in a hospital room. Rizavi wouldn’t be moved no matter what he said. He supposed he’d admire her tenacity when it came to her friends if it weren’t detrimental to him. Was that even ethical of her to do this? One way or the other, he supposed this might be a good thing: he’d wanted to talk to James at least one last time. It simply would have been best if their exchange hadn’t taken place here when he wasn’t at his best.

Rizavi left once she was satisfied with his health. As promised, a nurse stopped by next to free him from all those constraining tubes and wires. The nurse gave him a clean hospital gown and asked if he needed help with his shower. Keith shook his head. Soon, he was once again on his own. He sat on the edge of his bed after the siderail had been lowered, lower back throbbing in agony. The skin over his kidneys felt horribly tender when he touched it—the merest brush of his fingertips sent shivers of pain radiating throughout his body. There would be no new dose of painkillers for another hour, he’d been told. Since his kidneys weren’t functioning quite properly, it made sense—too much medicine could end up poisoning him rather than helping him.

Of course, Adam chose this exact time to come back into the room. Keith, face bathed in cold sweat, scowled at him, daring him to say something. Adam shrugged, took a sip of his coffee, and watched with a wry twist of amusement to his lips as Keith painfully got to his feet. He’d have helped—if Keith had asked. This situation had happened so many times in the past Keith felt like he was reliving a memory. It sucked that he was always the one hurting, the one asking for help. He toyed with the idea of putting his pride to the side before deciding against it. He could push through the pain. Adam wouldn’t always be there to mother him.

He dragged his feet to the tiny bathroom hidden behind a flimsy plastic door. He hardly had room to manoeuvre, banging his elbows everywhere as he struggled out of his sweat-soaked hospital gown. Undressing exhausted him. As he waited for the water to warm up, he looked at his reflection in the small mirror over the sink. The skin around his eyes was blackened from the blow he’d received to the nose. His lower lip was cut. When he looked down at himself, he saw that most of his body was covered in bruises. The worst part was the skin of his lower back: it was a sickening yellowish-black colour. Just looking at it hurt. Keith winced—wearing pants was going to be torture for a while. He was kind of glad for the shapeless, ugly, light blue hospital gown.

Two minutes after standing in the shower, he had to sit down. His lower back was afire. He had the urgent need to pee even if the catheter had just been removed. This made him worry that the damage to his kidneys might be worse than Rizavi was letting on. Sitting at the bottom of the shower, he slowly washed his hair and body, using the cheap soap and shampoo supplied by the hospital. He focused on every movement, feeling the pull of his muscles. Turning all his attention to the minutia of getting clean helped tune down his thoughts. He didn’t want to think—not about Panchito’s death, not about Shiro’s silence, not about anything. He felt too weak to face the onslaught of pain this all would bring. Once he’d had his next round of painkillers it would be easier.

Getting out of the shower proved to be difficult. He felt like an old man with painful joints, hardly able to stand straight. When Adam knocked on the door and asked if he needed help, Keith couldn’t stop himself from saying yes. It’d take all day to simply dry himself and put on his clothes afterward if he tried to do so on his own. Adam walked in, not very surprised to see him sitting on the floor all wet. Gently, he helped him to his feet and dried him with a towel that had seen better days. Despite the annoyed comments over the fact that Keith couldn’t take care of himself, he was infinitely careful, doing his best not to apply pressure anywhere. Keith leaned against him, glad to have someone take a bit of his weight. The small of his back pulsed with his heartbeat, one giant, throbbing bruise that made it difficult to think. Adam helped him into the clothes and went as far as combing his hair, pulling it back from his face and tying it in a messy ponytail so water wouldn’t dribble down his back.

Keith could barely acknowledge it all. It was only when he was back in his bed that he realised Adam had _carried_ him there.

“M’not that weak,” he mumbled.

Adam rolled his eyes and tucked the blankets securely around him.

“I need to pee,” Keith said.

“Of course you couldn’t have said so while you were in the bathroom.”

“Lance’d help me without whining.”

“Would Lance carry you to the bathroom?”

“That’d break his back.”

-

An hour later, a nurse had stopped by to give him a new dose of painkillers and Keith finally felt like himself again. The excursion to the bathroom had pathetically tired him. He was mortified over the fact that Adam had had to help him _dress_ like he was some sort of invalid. It didn’t help that Keith knew he certainly would still be sitting at the bottom of the shower stall without the man’s help. It’d been years since he’d felt so helpless and he didn’t like it better this time around. Thankfully, he was on his own now that Adam had left to grab breakfast. Despite being told that he could go back home, he’d stubbornly said he’d stay until Keith could stand on his own two feet again. He’d gone as far as calling his boss to tell her he was taking the day off to care for his _sick little brother_. It was as annoying as it was touching.

Keith was _bored_. His PDA had been taken from him when he’d been admitted so there was nothing to do. He couldn’t even call Lance to ask him how he was faring with his cousin’s death. He had to be with his family—Keith _hoped_ he was with his family. They’d need to stick together to get through this. It didn’t matter that the Álvarez family was part of a cartel—nobody got used to death, not even hardened criminals. Keith couldn’t stop himself from wondering how Uncle Pedro was doing. Pedro, the head of the cartel and Panchito’s father, hadn’t been very proud of his son. All his life, Panchito had been called a loser and a failure. He’d been the laughing stock of the other cartels. People liked to wonder how a man like Pedro Álvarez had fathered a chubby, weak, crybaby of a son like Panchito. Keith had known them for five years and he couldn’t tell whether the father would miss the son. Sure, Uncle Pedro had been harsh on Panchito but, surely, he’d still cared for him in his own, peculiar way. The whole family would be missing Panchito’s warmth, Keith amongst them all. He hoped he would be released in time for the funeral. Knowing the older generation of Álvarez’s penchant for religious stuff, there would be a ceremony of some sort taking place at their church. Lance’s mother had dragged him there a few times and the mumbo-jumbo about some ever-present god still left him baffled. Despite this, he’d sit through hours of religious nonsense if it could bring a little comfort.

Did Lance even know where Keith was? Yes, Veronica would have told him. Lance surely would have crossed the bridge to visit him if he’d been allowed to. As someone with no standing whatsoever, the crossing of Unification Bridge was impossible for him. Should he put in a request for one single visit to upper town, it was doubtful it would be authorized since Keith wasn’t family.

For some reason, this hurt. Adam shouldn’t have been allowed into his hospital room because he wasn’t family. Lance wasn’t allowed across the bridge because he wasn’t family. Keith had no legal family—Adam had been called here in the first place simply because he was set as Keith’s emergency contact in his PDA. It sucked.

Urgh, boredom did weird things to his mind. He didn’t want to be overthinking things. He should sleep, should rest to give his body time to heal so he could leave this place. The upper part of the bed had been cranked up however and sleeping sitting up was a skill he’d lost after he’d left the streets. He didn’t feel safe enough to fall asleep here, not when anybody could walk in unannounced.

And, of course, he needed to pee. The nurse from earlier had given him plenty of water, telling him he needed to drink as much as possible to clear all the blood from his urine. It meant countless painful trips to the bathroom. He almost missed the stupid catheter.

It was after one of those treks that James decided to honour him with his presence. Keith had entirely forgotten about him—his eyes widened when a nurse opened and closed the door for him. Keith sat up straighter, pulling the blankets to his waist. He wasn’t at his best at all and he wasn’t sure he was clear-minded enough to bicker with James. The painkillers dulled his senses as much as they dulled his pain. 

James walked in closer. He was either fresh out of work or out of the schoolroom because he was wearing a nice suit and a tie that he had loosened a little. Keith felt stupidly shabby in his hospital gown with his drying hair pulled back from his face and his blackened eyes. It did make him feel a bit better than James was looking kind of uncomfortable in his expensive clothes. James gave him a quick onceover, taking in the bruises on his face and his unflattering garb.

“You look like shit,” James commented.

“That’s what happens when you get beaten up, _daddy_.”

To his satisfaction, James blushed. He coughed. “Keith—”

“What? If you’ve come here for excuses, I don’t have any.”

“N-no, not excuses, not exactly. I just… I wished you’d have told me.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “As I said to your friend Rizavi, I have no means of communicating with you now that my blog’s down. If it makes you feel better, I wanted to visit you at your university to tell you. I’m not that much of an ass.”

James’ eyes widened in horror. “What! It’s a good thing you didn’t! Keith, do you know how much trouble I would have been in if anyone had found out?!”

“No, I don’t know. Sorry for nearly taking the initiative.”

“No need to be snappy, I’m just stating a fact.” He hesitated. “Who is it?”

“Do you really think I’d tell you?”

“It must be someone with money—buying a licence isn’t cheap. Is it the man who always outbid me on your blog?”

“Perhaps.”

“If I’d known you’d accept, I’d have bought your licence first.”

Keith quirked an eyebrow. “No, I doubt that very much. You slept with me as a fuck you to your dad. It wouldn’t have had the same punch if I’d no longer been a whore.”

James looked hurt by this. “Do you really think that’s the sole reason why I slept with you?”

“If you say it’s because you fell for me, I swear I’ll get out of this bed and punch you, James. That’s not love you feel, it’s just lust.”

James said nothing, his jaw working. Keith knew he’d offended him—men like James didn’t like to be told they were mistaken about their own feelings. In his head and in his heart, he was probably certain that he was in love with Keith. Keith had seen it happen enough times to recognize it. It was appalling how many men mistook love with lust. James might be fond of him—he’d certainly acted that way despite his rough attitude once in a while. Fondness and love were still two different things.

“Whatever,” James grumbled. “I’m still pissed.”

“I don’t care.”

“I really wish you’d tell me you bought you.”

“That wouldn’t change anything. I doubt it’s someone you know anyway.” Keith sighed. “Look, it was nice while it lasted, okay? You were a good client. These things just happen. There’s no need to cry over spilled milk.”

“Can I still see you, though? I mean, as friends?”

“No? We’re not friends! Crap, James, don’t be daft. Aren’t you supposed to be super smart? We’ve got nothing in common, _nothing_. You’re acting like a lovesick puppy and it’s annoying.”

James took a rapid step forward and grabbed Keith’s hand. “Keith, please, give me a chance. I swear I’m not as stuck up as I look. I’m sure we could find some common ground if you just give me a chance.”

“Oh, this is ridiculous. Fine, whatever! I suppose we can still have breakfast once in a while if that pleases you.”

“Will you still let me take you to bed?”

“No! I’m no longer a whore, I told you. I certainly won’t sleep with you for free either.”

“I can’t believe you prefer to keep yourself for that guy who bought you.”

“There, your nasty side’s showing. I was wondering where it went.” Keith tugged his hand free. “There’re plenty of other whores for you to fall for out there.”

“You don’t understand, Keith! We have history together!”

Keith could hardly believe his ears. “History together? Oh, you think that because you bullied me in school that I’ll fall for you? We probably exchanged ten words and all of them were insults. You threw trash at me. You laughed when the others called me a cum bucket and a slut. If that’s what you base your friendship on, I feel sorry for Rizavi.”

“T-that’s not the same thing,” James retorted, blushing. “It’s different, now. We’re grownups. I no longer bully you.”

“No, that’s true, you don’t. You just think I owe you something because you paid to fuck me. What kind of person walks into the hospital bedroom of their friend and act like an ass? You didn’t even ask how I was.”

A pause. “How are you?”

“Pissed. And I need to piss. Get out, James. I’ll call you if I ever need a lawyer.”

James looked insulted. “You wouldn’t be able to afford my services!”

“I wouldn’t—my new patron would, however.”

“Your new patron’s stupid enough to allow you to run amuck in low town and get hurt. I wouldn’t. I’d keep you in style, in a nice house in upper town where you’d be safe.” He pointed towards a small table situated by the door upon which a large bouquet stood. He went to it and grabbed the small card attached to one of the branches. “ _’Darling, I was sorry to hear you got hurt. Call me as soon as possible. Love, Wor_.’ Hmpf, and this guy loves you and you don’t give him trouble for it?”

Keith had to make an effort to school his expression. He hadn’t even noticed the flowers sitting there—in fact, they’d been there since his arrival, he’d thought they were just part of the décor. He’d never thought anyone would send him a get-well bouquet.

He gritted his teeth. “You bastard, don’t change the subject. Anyone who’s known me ten minutes would know that’s exactly what I _wouldn’t_ want. Do you think I’d want to sit and be pretty in a house you’d paid? That I’d wait eagerly all day for your return? You’re even more ridiculous than I thought.” He made a shooing motion. “Get out, Griffin. Stop insulting me.”

James puffed up with wounded pride. He gritted his teeth, opened his mouth to retort, then decided better. Instead, he spun on his heels and left, slamming the door behind him with a resounding crash. Keith watched him go with annoyance—what the fuck had that just been about? He’d known James would be disappointed to lose his services, he just hadn’t expected him to act so brattish about it. Stupid rich kid—this was probably the first time someone was refusing him. Did he really think Keith would accept to sit on his hands all day in some fancy house until James deigned visit him? Of all the things Keith had had to do to survive, this would have made him feel like a whore. He’d never accept to be forced into a role that didn’t fit him. At least Wor let him do whatever he pleased.

He glanced back at the bouquet, a tad weirded out. A tad _touched_. He was pretty sure that, had Wor not been so stupidly self-conscious about his appearance, he’d be here personally. Was James right? Was Keith being a hypocrite by accusing him of falling for him while Wor seemed to like him a whole deal too? He reminded himself of his last conversation with the alien: he’d said he could hardly feel anything, that emotions were a mystery to him. He was just nice, a good bloke taking care of his investment. Keith could live with that.

Adam came back from his lunch a few minutes later. There was a puzzled expression on his face as he asked: “Was that James Griffin I just saw coming out of your room?”

“Yeah? You know him?”

“I know of him, mostly. I’ve seen him around at the university. I believe one of his friends is in my class. How do _you_ know him?”

Keith groaned. “We were in school together. We met by accident a while ago. He’s grown… attached.”

“Ah. And you’re not attached back?”

Keith threw him a look that meant _what do you think?_ Of all people, Adam had been the first to know about his crush on his Shiro, even before Keith himself had realised it. He knew Keith would never consider anybody else, not even some rich, handsome guy.

“It’s a good thing—his father is dangerous,” Adam commented.

“I know. Adam? What’s that thing you’re hiding behind your back?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Adam’s lips. He brought his hand around to show Keith a small plate upon which a piece of cake had been placed. Keith’s mouth watered.

“So, who’s your favourite big brother again?”


	22. Chapter 22

He had thirty-one missed calls and twice as much unread texts when he was handed his PDA back. The nurse smiled at him as she gave him the low-dosage painkillers he was supposed to take if his back hurt too much. He was pretty sure the bloody bottle would need to be refilled in three days judging by the way his kidneys throbbed. Dr. Rizavi had pronounced him as hale as he would get so she’d signed his discharge that morning after one last look at him. He was glad of it—he hated hospitals. He’d barely gotten any sleep that night, what with the noise in the corridor and in the other rooms.

And, to make things even more unpleasant, he’d had to put on the clothes he’d had when he’d been admitted. They were dirty, smelly, and unpleasant to wear. The tight waistband of the jeans put too much pressure on his lower back. He caught himself thinking that Pidge’s dress he’d worn at the Fightdome would be the perfect garment.

He’d wanted to talk to her before leaving, but she’d been discharged last night. Apparently, her brother had taken her home straight, not giving her time to talk with him. Adam had checked on her on his request and he’d confirmed that she was all right, just shaken.

“You really don’t have to drive me home,” Keith grumbled at Adam.

Adam opened the trunk of his car to reveal the flowers Keith had received during his stay. “How are you supposed to bring all of that home on the skymetro?”

“I’ll have to find a way because there’s no way in hell you’re driving that fancy car of yours in low town.”

“And you wonder why I worry about you living there.”

Adam opened the passenger door for him and helped him in. Sitting down hurt like a bitch. He swallowed two painkillers while Adam’s back was turned—he wouldn’t survive the trip home otherwise. The seats in the skymetro weren’t padded unlike those in the car. He couldn’t even slouch, could hardly move without wincing. It was more than a blessing he was no longer a whore—he wouldn’t have been able to perform with that pain.

“So, that guy, Wor,” Adam began as he sat behind the wheel. “He likes you a lot judging by the flowers he sent you.”

“Urgh, don’t you start!”

Keith leaned against the door, staring out at this unfamiliar neighbourhood of upper town. Neo-Metropolis Teaching Hospital was situated near enough the university that most of the inhabitants around it were students. The block had that kind of vibrancy associated with youth he found appalling. A lot of pubs, a lot of restaurants, high tenements with pristine façades, it all screamed of entitled little shits living off their parents’ money. Keith tried imagining himself living here and shivered in disgust.

“What? It’s not a bad thing,” Adam replied testily. “I’m just glad he’s nice to you.”

“Do we really have to talk about him?”

“Yes. He bought your licence which means he owns you, Keith. It’s serious.”

Adam had been wanting to have this conversation, Keith guessed, probably ever since he’d learned about his retirement. He’d simply known that talking about this on the phone would have been futile since Keith could have hung up on him. Now that they were stuck in a car together, there was nowhere to run. And of course there was traffic.

“What do you want me to tell you, Adam? Yeah, he bought my licence. I suppose that makes him my… I don’t know… owner? It’s not bad. With the kind of money he pays for me, it’s actually a good thing.”

“What do you know of him then?”

Keith shrugged one shoulder. “He’s an ambassador for his people. He’s nice. He’s straightforward. He’s really, really good in bed.”

“How long will you be seeing him?”

“As long as his negotiations with Prince Lotor last. As long as he’s on Earth, I suppose.”

“And afterwards?”

“Afterwards I’m on my own. I’ll have made enough money to live out my days in peace.”

“You should go back to school while you can, Keith. Use that money to pay for some private classes. We both know you’re smart—you’ll be done in no time. Maybe you’ll finally be able to be a pilot. You can live with me in the meantime.”

Keith leaned his head against the glass. If he were completely honest, he’d thought about it before discarding the whole thing. That wouldn’t work. He wasn’t made for that kind of ordinary, rigid life.

“I’ll think about it,” he mumbled.

“That’s all I ask.”

Adam knew Keith wouldn’t think about it and Keith hated himself for disappointing him. They kept quiet after that, each stuck in their own musings. Keith checked his texts—most of them were from Lance updating him on the situation. A few were from Hunk and Pidge. Two were from Lance’s mother. Not one was from Shiro. There was no voicemail from him either. He tightened his grip on his PDA as a wave of pain submerged him. It radiated from the centre of his chest, not from the small of his back. Why, why wasn’t Shiro talking to him? What was wrong with him? Didn’t he realise he was being cruel? It was so unlike him—Shiro wasn’t a coward, he faced things headfirst. What was different this time? What was the matter with him?

He opened his mouth to ask Adam before thinking better of it. He trusted Adam, loved him perhaps, opening his heart about his fears was simply too much. It made him feel weak, vulnerable, and he hated this so much. He didn’t want to appear clingy or desperate. He didn’t want Adam to look at him pityingly, like he was an idiot for clinging despite knowing it was futile. He hated pity more than anything else.

They stopped at the metro station nearest the bridge.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come home?” Adam asked as he parked the car. “You need to rest and heal, Keith.”

“I can rest and heal in my own flat.” Keith hesitated before turning to the other man. “Thanks. For being there, I mean. And for helping me too, I guess.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “You thank me like it’s the most disdainful thing to do.” He reached out to pat Keith’s hair, his features soft. “You keep me updated on the situation, okay? And promise me you’ll take it easy for a few days.”

“I promise I will take it easy, _mom_. Don’t forget to send me those flowers. Unless you want to keep them, of course.”

“I won’t keep them, they’re yours. I’m afraid I don’t have nearly as many secret admirers as you do.”

“Smile more and you’ll have tons of them.”

Adam looked surprised by this. Keith grinned at him and hopped out of the car before another lecture could begin. He waved at the older man before making his way towards the station, being careful not to show his pain. If Adam sensed a weakening in his will, he’d grab him, shove him back into the car, and drive him to his apartment where he’d force Keith to lie down in bed with a bowl of soup and soap operas as sole companion for a week. Keith might have entertained the idea if what had sent him at the hospital in the first place hadn’t been so horrible. He couldn’t leave Lance alone, not after his cousin had been murdered.

As expected, the ride home was nothing short of agony. The wagon was full at this time of day so Keith had to stay up, which put a strain on his lower back. The jostling didn’t help and, when a guy pressed too close to his butt, Keith nearly skewered him on the spot. Instead, he grabbed the asshole’s crotch and squeezed so hard the guy squeaked in pain before scurrying away. He was left alone after that.

He had to resist the urge to take more painkillers as he walked towards his building. He needed to pee like hell even though he’d pissed at the station. He really hoped this at least would get fixed quickly because he couldn’t spend his days taking bathroom breaks. There still had been a little trickle of blood in his urine—this was to be expected according to Rizavi, it was still unsettling. It had been years since he’d peed blood. Maybe all the drugs he’d taken had done more damages to his kidneys than he’d assumed.

By the time he reached his destination, he was sweating again. He climbed the stairs slowly, leaning heavily on the handrail. He felt like an old man, barely able to straighten. He stopped in front of his door to catch his breath and mop his brow. He didn’t want to alarm Lance, didn’t want to make him worry further. Keith took a deep breath and walked in.

“Lance? I’m home.”

The words were barely out of his mouth that Lance was appearing out of the living room and pulling him into a hug. Keith’s heart squeezed in his chest as he hugged his friend back tightly. There was desperate strength to the embrace, like Lance was pushing every ounce of what he had left inside him into it. He was desperate for comfort and Keith tried to meet his need. He combed his fingers through Lance’s short brown hair, making shushing noises, mumbling nonsense about how everything would be all right. Keith didn’t even have time to feel awkward about the whole thing—normally, he sucked at reassuring people. It was as easy as it was natural with Lance.

After a few minutes of standing there, tension oozed out of Lance’s body. He pulled back, cheeks wet, eyes red and puffy.

“Hey, baby bro, you look terrible,” he said with a watery smile.

Keith wiped Lance’s cheeks with his thumbs. “You don’t look so hot yourself, idiot. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your mom?”

“I wanted to be here when you came back. Seriously though, how are you?”

“I’m fine. Just banged up. You?”

Lance’s lips trembled. “Bodily, I’m fine. I’m messed up inside.”

Lance was one of the very few people Keith knew who had absolutely no trouble admitting that he wasn’t feeling all right. It wasn’t a shame to him to admit he was sad—Keith envied him this ease sometimes. If anything, it made it easier to comfort him.

They sat together on the couch, Lance’s head resting on Keith’s lap. Keith petted his hair, putting aside his own hurts to tend to those of his friend. They talked about Panchito, about his kindness and his goofiness and his good sides. They laughed at his mishaps, at his awkwardness and at his bad jokes. They recounted his deeds. Lance reminisced about their happy childhood together. Panchito had been a happy, bubbly child full of curiosity about the world. He’d been a follower, following his cousin everywhere he went, never minding that they got into trouble.

Once Lance had calmed down a bit, Keith told him hesitantly about Panchito’s involvement with Lena, the daughter of the head of the Polish cartel, and how he’d gotten her pregnant. The girl’s father had expected Panchito to marry her to save her from some the shame of having a child without being married. For a few moments, Lance didn’t move, didn’t say anything. Then, he sat bolt upright, his eyes huge.

“Are you serious?!” he demanded.

“Yes?”

 “Holy shit… Panchito would’ve been rich… His father’s going to explode when he learns that…” Lance couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “Who would’ve thought—Panchito, the first one of the gang with a kid and a very beautiful wife.”

“Panchito could be charming when he wanted to be,” Keith said honestly. “He had his own peculiar charm.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

Lance leaned back down, motioning at Keith to continue petting his hair. Keith obeyed silently, thinking. He had no idea what would happen of Lena and her child. He’d personally had no dealings whatsoever with the Polish cartel so he wasn’t sure of how her father would behave. According to Panchito, he’d been adamant that his daughter marry the man who’d sired their child. Now that there was no man to marry, what would he do? Keith suspected they might have to forewarn Uncle Pedro about this. On the other hand, it might be better to simply let them deal with this on their own since it was never a good idea to get stuck between two fighting cartel heads. At the end of the day, it wasn’t Keith’s decision—Lance was the boss so he’d do what Lance decided.

Lance told him that Hunk had mercifully not been hurt during the attack. He’d been badly shaken, of course, more by the theft in itself than by any risk of bodily injury that might have occurred. He was both distraught and angry that someone had had the guts to steal his pet project. Keith had a hard time imagining a big, gentle puppy like Hunk being angry. It would be justified: Hunk had created this drug from scratch. It was _his_ , his invention, his intellectual property. It sucked that someone had just walked into the plant and took it all, killing Panchito and hurting the rest of them. It was a blow—nothing they couldn’t fix, but a blow nonetheless. Hunk had said this would set them back for weeks. All their accumulated stock had disappeared. The computer Pidge had built for the sole purpose of making the drug had been taken. The tiny, automated robots Hunk had created for the assembly line had been destroyed. Even if they still had the original plans, it all would have to be started from scratch. Keith had no doubt that both Hunk and Pidge had prepared half a dozen spreadsheets of what it would cost, in time and money, to start over.

Although not a catastrophe, it was a horrible setback. A week ago, they’d been on the path to glory. A week ago, there’d been five of them. Now they were only four.

Keith’s back throbbed dully. Lance had fallen into a light doze, cheek pressed into the fabric of Keith’s pants. There were dark circles beneath his eyes making him look older than his twenty-three years. This had hit him hard. Lance had never lost anybody close to him. The threat of death had always hung over him because of his family’s business and it was the first time he was having to deal with it. He was faring considerably well for someone so tender-hearted. It surely helped that he talked about his grief rather than just keeping it repressed. It had just happened, anyway. The shock had yet to wear off. Keith knew of grief, knew how its hold on a person could last for years. He hoped Lance’s hopeful nature would help in that matter. He knew his own grief over Panchito’s death would take a long, long time to heal.

He must have snoozed a little because he jerked when Lance moved to sit up. Keith’s whole body protested. His hand went to his back, pressing down on the point of pain as if it could help.

“What’s wrong?” Lance asked, eyebrows lowered in a worried frown.

“Got kicked in the kidneys,” Keith answered through gritted teeth. “It’s painful. Shit, and I need the bathroom or I’ll piss my pants.”

Lance hovered uncertainly while Keith managed to get up and drag himself to the bathroom. How long had it been since he’d taken his painkillers? One hour? Two? Damn it, he was supposed to take two every _four_ hours. He was going to die of this, wasn’t he? Either he’d swallow the whole bottle of pills or he’d just smoke a whole pound of pot to ease the pain. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d never been that much of a wimp. He’d been knifed in the face and that hadn’t stopped him from going back to work two days later. He’d taken beatings worse than that. Maybe he was getting old.

He refused to put his pants back on—they were way too tight around the waistband. He kicked them off into the wash basket that was, of course, full to overflowing. Keith stared at it, annoyed. The thought of carrying it to the laundromat sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through his body. He thought of Adam’s flat in upper town, the flat that had room for a washer and dryer, the pinnacle of luxury. With the kind of money Keith now earned, he could surely afford a flat like that. Imagine it, not having to drag a bag of dirty laundry to the laundromat every week. It was stupid yet Keith yearned for it.

He was taking off his shirt gingerly when Lance poked his head in. His eyes widened when he saw the large, blackish bruises on Keith’s lower back.

“Holy shit! Are you all right?!”

“I’ll live.”

Before he had time to assure the other that it wasn’t as painful as it looked—a lie—Lance walked in and hugged him fiercely. He carefully kept his hands to Keith’s shoulder blades rather than to the small of his back as he usually did. Lance had been worried about him. Without his PDA at the hospital, Keith hadn’t been able to tell him he was all right. Lance had spent the last two days fretting about him. Of course, just like Adam, Lance nagged him about resting and, just like Adam, Lance could be hard-headed. Keith allowed himself to be steered to his bedroom where he was made to lie down. Lance gingerly lied down beside him, careful not to touch his wounds. There, in the murky, familiar darkness, Keith finally relaxed. He rested his forehead against Lance’s collarbone, listening to his heart beating. It was comfortable and warm and reassuring, almost enough to make him believe everything would be all right.

-

“Why are you answering the door in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear?”

Keith stared down at Pidge, groggy from being awakened too early from his nap. Her incessant knocking had woken him up with a jerk. He had absolutely no idea of the time, only that it was dark and cool in the flat. The light coming in from the corridor made him squint.

“I was sleeping,” he grumbled.

She brushed past him as she walked in without being invited too. Keith rolled his eyes before closing the door. As if she owned the place, she turned the light on in the kitchen, nearly blinding him in the process.

“I’ve got a plan,” Pidge declared as she sat at the table.

“Couldn’t it have waited until tomorrow?”

“Nope! You’ll want to hear it. I’m just waiting for Hunk to arrive. It’s _our_ plan, really. He deserves to be there for the grand unveiling.”

Keith barely listened to her as he rummaged through the fridge for the pitcher of water. He was parched, his throat like sandpaper. He wasn’t sure he felt refreshed or worst from his nap. At least the pain in his back had diminished to a throb instead of a stabbing sensation. When Pidge asked why he was walking funny, he simply pulled up his shirt to show her the bruises.

“I didn’t think your brother would let you come back after what happened,” Keith said. He leaned his hip against the table as he gulped down water. He sighed in relief. “Did you get hurt?”

Pidge waved her hand in dismissal. “Matt worries too much. I’m perfectly fine. Just a bit bruised.”

Keith observed the girl, searching her face for a lie. She did _look_ all right, at least physically. There was a change in her eyes, a new glint that hadn’t been there before. Pidge was someone resolute who knew her own mind. She was stubborn and Keith could respect that. That new glint was darker—she wanted revenge. Either for Panchito’s death or for the theft of her product, he couldn’t be certain. He didn’t like this. Revenge was a slippery slope, a downward curve that lead only deeper if not trekked carefully. He didn’t know if Pidge was ready for that. She was strong and tough and intelligent and capable, but she was also young and new to this world. He understood her family had been slighted, that they were going through hardships thanks to what had been done to her father and brother. That didn’t make her a criminal. He didn’t know whether he should mention this. He wasn’t her keeper—six months ago she’d only been a distant name mentioned once in a while by Shiro. He hadn’t known her, wasn’t sure he knew her yet.

His respect for her, for her intelligence and her no-nonsense attitude forced him to speak up. “What’s that plan you’re talking about?”

She looked up from her laptop. “I said I’d wait for Hunk to arrive before we talk about it.”

“Are you planning some sort of revenge?”

She frowned at him, eyes hardening. “It’s my right. Panchito was my friend and it’s my product that got stolen.”

Keith sighed. “Look, I’m not going to tell you _why_ it’s a bad idea to go down that road. I understand, I want retribution for Panchito too. Just don’t do anything you might regret.”

She said nothing, scowling at him, before returning to her computer. At least she hadn’t brushed him off completely, which was a good thing. He told himself that, if Hunk was in on this, it couldn’t be something bad. Hunk was a gentle soul, he wouldn’t want to hurt anyone, not even as revenge. Hell, he was so nice he’d probably not want revenge.

“Did you watch the news today?” Pidge asked.

“No, why? What’s happened this time?”

“Our Altean friends are in trouble. The police found four dead bodies this morning and the only suspects are two Alteans.”

Pidge typed on her keyboard and then turned the holoscreen towards him so he could see a video. A young male reporter was standing on a street of low town in a neighbourhood near the bridge. Behind him was a line of yellow tape cording off an intersection. Inside the perimeter, half a dozen policemen were kneeling on the wet asphalt. There were four mounds covered in blankets. On the wall of pale bricks behind the group, a huge smear of blood stood out, impossible to miss. The reporter was saying: “ _At six o’clock this morning, a local called the police station to report suspicious activity in their neighbourhood. When two policemen arrived, they were confronted with the scene you can see behind me. Four bodies were found, all of them mangled. According to the spokesperson I talked to earlier, the two men and two women were tortured before having their throat slit. The gruesome crime has been attributed to two Alteans. The suspects were lurking around the crime scene, dressed as beggars. Commander Sendak of the CTAC has taken it upon himself to see that these two criminals be brought to justice. He wishes to remind the populace to be very wary of the Alteans—they can shift their appearance, making it easy for them to commit crimes and then get away with it. As you can see on this graphics—_ ” A colourful graphics popped up at the bottom right corner of the screen. “— _There has been an increase in violent crimes ever since Prince Lotor took it upon himself to rehabilitate the Alteans from the mines. As of yet, the prince has offered no comment on this case. We—_ ”

Pidge paused the video. “Trouble’s brewing. Allura’s upset.”

Keith rubbed his face. Of course Allura would be upset—she was the princess of these people. She was their leader, she was supposed to be taking care of them. Knowing her, she was also feeling it was her responsibility to atone for any misdeed they might carry. It was troubling that news channels were this quick at accusing the Alteans. According to Pidge, no formal inquiry has begun yet. They were jumping to conclusions or, as she suspected, being fed rubbish by the commander. It was all part of his political agenda—he wanted to discredit Prince Lotor at all costs. Since more than half of the inhabitants of Neo-Metropolis disapproved of the Alteans and Balmarans being given jobs and other advantages, it was easy for him to be on these people’s side. He simply had to say the newcomers were stealing jobs from those who had always been part of the workforce of the city. It was stupid and yet it was working. The divide between low town and upper town was growing deeper by the day—because, of course, it was those from upper town who feared the Alteans most.

Surely, people had to see they were being manipulated. Couldn’t they understand this was all just a game of tug of war between Lotor and Sendak? Already Keith could tell that upper town would be siding with Sendak while low town would be siding with Lotor. The low towners saw Lotor as some sort of messiah, as the guy who understood their plight. The upper towners liked Sendak because he was one of them, a link to Emperor Zarkon and how things had always been done by the Galra Empire. How did this translate to Allura and her people, Keith wasn’t sure. Pidge told him that Allura and Fala laid low as much as possible. Whenever they went out, they were very careful to shift their appearance enough not to be recognized as Alteans. It pained Allura to do so—she was proud of her lineage so she hated having to pretend to be someone else. She had to be careful for her sake as well as the sake of others—Pidge’s family was taking a risk by housing Fala and her. They were already being given the stink eye for the way Pidge’s mother had spoken against the previous emperor so they couldn’t deal with more pressure.

“If it’s too dangerous for you, Allura and Fala can come back here, I don’t mind,” Keith said. “It’s not fair that you’re being put in danger.”

“It might come to that,” Pidge admitted in annoyance. “Their IDs identify them as Alteans. Soon, it might even be too dangerous for them to get out at all. Matt told me there are rumours about changing the laws for those who cross the bridge.”

“Shit, are you serious?”

“It’s only rumours right now. I wouldn’t be much surprised if they came to pass—they’ll say it’s for our protection or some other such nonsense.”

Keith gulped. This sucked—if the rules changed and he was no longer allowed to cross the bridge, he might never see Shiro or Adam again. If he did buy that flat in upper town and moved there, he might never see Lance and the others again. He rubbed his face. Shit. He might not even be able to see Wor, which would certainly mean the end of their contract together.

“Don’t fret,” Pidge said with a smile. “I really can’t believe it’ll come to this. Lotor and Sendak are just flexing to terrorise us.”

“My job depends on this so I’ll fret if I want to.”

She shrugged and returned to her laptop. Keith got up to fetch himself something to eat from the fridge—he was suddenly ravenous. There were days when he wondered if the centre of his feelings wasn’t in his stomach rather than in his brain. Hospital food had been disappointingly bland and what little Adam had been able to slip him from the cafeteria hadn’t done the job. He saw with relief that Lance’s mother had brought leftovers so he heated some of it with relish. Out the corner of his eye, he spotted Pidge looking at him with her nose wrinkled. He made a face at her and she laughed, as if surprised. It eased the tension a little bit.

Lance got up not long before Hunk had arrived. Lance, for all his cheeriness, was a grumpy riser so he sulked in one corner of the kitchen, drinking coffee while Pidge recounted what she’d just told Keith about the laws. It didn’t affect either Lance or Hunk who already weren’t allowed to cross.

While she talked, Keith observed Hunk. He’d hugged Keith like his life depended on it when he’d arrived. The embrace had been good and reassuring, a sign that Hunk was all right despite what had happened. He thankfully hadn’t been wounded during the attack—he had some bruises, but he’d been wise enough to stay out of trouble. He’d been more frightened than anything. Keith supposed he was the one hurt the most because he’d fought back—clearly the thieves had expected them to lie down and take it.

“So,” Pidge began once they all sat down around the table. “Do you know what the beauty of an electronic drug is?”

Lance scratched his head. “No?” He groaned. “I don’t want to talk about this, Pidge! I told you already I’d give you the money to start over! I don’t need another presentation to be convinced!”

She scowled. “That’s not what this is about! No. I’ve been working with Hunk on tracking the drug.” She grinned when they all perked up. “What, do you really think I can’t trace my own product? Every device has a sort of… electronic signature, let’s say. It’s only a matter of picking it up.” She pointed at a small rectangular piece of plastic stuck into one of the ports of her computer. “Hunk built this based on a GPS. Basically, what it does is scan an area for the electronic signature of stuff. Of course, it’s not that easy because our drug is tiny so it’s not like tracking a PDA or a computer. I’ve had to write some code and algorithm, but I think I’ve got something.” A map of the area appeared on the screen. Tiny white dots were glowing faintly in some places. “I suspect those are Arts users.”

They all leaned in to peer at the small dots.

“There’s only like five of them,” Lance said with a frown.

“The range of Hunk’s tracker is very narrow. There are five users within perhaps… fifty metres.”

“Okay,” Keith said, puzzled. “What are we supposed to do with this information?”

Before Pidge had time to speak up, Hunk said nervously: “Pidge, wait. I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

Her eyes went wide. “What?! Hunk, we talked about this!”

“I-I know! But… I’m not sure I want to go down that path.”

“What are you talking about?” Lance asked.

Keith could guess: this was about getting their revenge. Pidge had something in mind that Hunk didn’t approve of.

Hunk winced as he explained: “We can track the electronic signature of the drug. When I built this tracker, I told myself that tracking the drug might not be enough. I was… angry because of what had happened to Panchito. I thought I could use the tracker to… hurt the users.”

“To send an electromagnetic pulse to fry their brain,” Pidge deadpanned.

Lance and Keith gaped at her. Keith had expected this and it still surprised him to hear her say this so blatantly. Hunk winced again, looking shamefaced at his own idea. Pidge stared down her nose at them, daring them to stop her.

“No!” Lance exclaimed. “No way!”

“Yes way,” Pidge retorted.

Lance stood up so abruptly his chair skidded back on the old linoleum of the floor. He used this new height to glare down at her. “No. I’m the head of this operation and I forbid this, Pidge. Think! The users aren’t to blame! They’re just buying! They don’t care who they buy from as long as they get their fix!”

Seeing him truly angry was a rare, impressive sight. His jovial face looked transformed, harsher, harder. His eyes were stormy and he seemed to loom over Pidge.

To her credit, she didn’t flinch back. She jumped to her feet too, smaller than him but still impressive. She pointed her finger into his face. “Don’t you want to avenge your cousin?!”

“Killing blameless people isn’t revenge! We need to find out who stole from us! Killing our leads won’t do that!”

“Oh!” Hunk exclaimed. “Lance, you just gave me an idea! We—“

Keith put a hand on Hunk’s shoulder—there was no stopping Lance and Pidge once they got started. They watched while they argued. They weren’t angry at each other. Hell, most of their arguments didn’t make sense, they were just blowing off some steam. Once Hunk realised this too, he stopped trying to intervene. Instead, he brought Pidge’s laptop closer to him and fiddled on it.

Keith sat back to think. His own moral code was different than that of Lance and Hunk. If he were honest, he’d say he approved of Pidge’s idea of revenge. The users weren’t as dumb as Lance were making them out to be—they usually knew who they were buying from. Addicts were mindless idiots, but those who used Arts didn’t get their brain cells fried so much that they could no longer reason. Drug users were a wily bunch who didn’t want to get caught in the crosshair of two gangs. They were careful who they got their stuff from. Their drug-induced paranoia usually made them buy from the same person all the time. Keith had seen some of them go totally crazy because their dealer had changed without warning. Arts was still such a new, specialised drug that only a few dealers sold it. The users knew them and knew they were all part of the Cuban cartel. They wouldn’t have bought from a rival cartel.

As an idea struck him, he borrowed Hunk’s computer to look at the map of the users. The tracker’s range wasn’t that great, he reminded himself of this, but he didn’t like what he was seeing.

Hunk looked at him questioningly. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh? Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. I’d just like to talk to these blokes. Do you mind if I use your tracker tomorrow?”

Hunk wasn’t stupid. His brown eyes held the tiniest hint of suspicion. Keith stared back at him, wiling him to trust him. He was no actor so he couldn’t paint a convincing mask of innocence on his face. Still, whatever Hunk saw there seemed to reassure him. He unplugged the tracker and handed it to Keith.

Keith toyed with the device, thinking. Do we owe a debt to our friends? He watched Lance and Pidge bicker needlessly. He thought of Panchito and his cruel, needless death. Lance was his boss, technically. Panchito had been his friend, the key to his survival. Without Panchito, Keith never would have met Lance and his family. Without them, he’d certainly have died on the street, another drug-addled, sickness-riddled whore. They’d saved him—he was who he was today thanks to them. Lance and Panchito, he owed them both. Should he listen to Lance and not think of revenge? Should he think of Panchito’s gentle disposition? Or should he think of those bastards who had hurt him? He wouldn’t go after the buyers, he decided. He’d go higher, to those who’d ordered the theft. Those could be made to pay.

That night, after Pidge and Hunk had left, Keith dragged Lance to bed. He cuddled with him after they’d screwed, hugging him, hoping it would ease the sting of the future betrayal he planned.

-

He got up at first light. Lance snored away, snug beneath the blankets. Keith dressed silently, grabbed his computer and the tracker, and tiptoed out of the flat. A think blanket of ice crusted every flat surface. The air hurt to be breathed in. The sky had that dark grey colour that promised a shower, most likely of snow judging the temperature. There hadn’t been snow in that part of the world before, Keith remembered learning back in school. The climate changes had messed everything up.

He plugged the tracker into his computer as he walked down the street. The residual life of the Arts lasted for about twenty-four hours Hunk had once told him, so he had to hurry if he wanted to catch those who had partaken into the drug last night. He crisscrossed the familiar neighbourhood, eyes on the screen, checking the white dots. The further he went, the surer he became of his assumptions. He extended his search until, a couple of hours later, he’d left completely the Cuban turf. He stood there by an opening restaurant to contemplate the empty screen. Not one user of Arts to be found around. He went inside, ordered a coffee to warm himself up, and went back out. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions so he went back the way he’d come, up until he once again left the territory controlled by his gang. No sign of Arts users here either.

It was nearing noon then. Keith turned his laptop off and tucked it beneath his arm. He had to decide what to do next. He couldn’t be hasty about this. It was against his nature to be patient, to think things through. He much preferred to be in the thick of things. Despite this, he sat on the steps of the laundromat nearest his flat to think.

Judging from what he knew of a drug addict’s behaviour, there was only one reason why the Arts users were all gathered on Cuban turf: they were all living in this neighbourhood. Drug addicts, unless they were really, really desperate, never left their familiar territory. They visited the same spots and bought from the same sellers. Addicts and sellers usually saw each other more often than they saw their family. Addicts found it comforting to buy from a familiar face—Keith knew, he’d been there. It wasn’t sentimentality, it was simple survival. They, stupidly, came to trust their seller. It wouldn’t matter if they were sold shit or a subpar produce as long as it was the same bloke handing them their dope.

In light of this, did this mean what Keith feared? Did this mean the drug had never left their turf? Did this mean it was being sold by their own people? Lance had believed his sellers to be loyal to him, but he could be naïve and people could be subverted oh so easily. Sellers took the product and sold it, they didn’t care where it came from. It was either some sellers from a rival gang had snuck on their turf to sell their people stuff or the Arts had been sold by people from their gang. Their sellers wouldn’t have taken dope handed to them by people they didn’t know, they weren’t that dumb. So the movers were known to them, familiars of the Cuban cartel too. The movers took the dope from warehouse managers, once again people known to them.

Nowhere in this did this leave room for strangers. Keith shuffled the cards mentally again, trying to find a flaw in his logic. He didn’t like where this was going, didn’t like the picture forming in his head. It made him sick to his stomach. There was an _internal_ leak. This had been an inside job. But how could it? There were only three lieutenants of the Cuban cartel: Luis, Marco, and Lance. Luis didn’t know about the Arts, and Marco and Lance trusted each other implicitly. Keith, despite his natural suspicion of everybody, couldn’t find it himself to implicate either Marco or Luis. They were trustworthy, loyal. Luis and Marco had been together in this since the start. Neither of them had resented Lance’s presence or had resented ceding him a small part of their territory. Anyway, Luis wouldn’t do something as stupid as steal from one of his own—he was doing his best to be discreet, not wanting to put his children at risk. Marco didn’t stand to benefit at all from stealing the Arts since he already made a profit out of it. Marco wasn’t greedy to start with. Furthermore, neither brother would condone the assassination of Panchito.

And it had been an assassination. He’d been shot at the back of the head. Very few people could afford a gun.

Keith only knew of one person who fitted the mold he was building.

Uncle Pedro.

As if the mere thought was sacrilegious, Keith shook his head. No matter how he angled this, it always came back to Lance’s uncle. The bastard was greedy so it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to think he’d want to partake into the profit of the Arts. He demanded utter loyalty from his people so it wouldn’t be surprising he’d be pissed at the thought of Lance and Panchito keeping a secret from him. And he’d hated Panchito. He’d _loathed_ his son he considered an idiot, a shame. Panchito had been scared shitless of his father—Uncle Pedro had never been above bodily punishments for the tiniest mistakes. They’d all tasted his belt at least once, Keith included. It had been more humiliating than painful, even more so for Panchito. Panchito cried easily and his father couldn’t stand tears. He’d looked at his son like he was a turd beneath his shoe whenever he’d start bawling.

Still, could Uncle Pedro have gone as far as get Panchito _killed_? It fit the stereotype of the man, that was sure. Keith couldn’t be certain. Since the police hadn’t been involved, there would be no inquiry into Panchito’s death. Uncle Pedro’s gun was untraceable anyway—the man was no fool. Short of asking, Keith wasn’t sure there was a way to know for certain. Asking would bring troubles he didn’t need. If Uncle Pedro got a whiff that Keith was on his trail, he might stage another accident that would get rid of Lance this time.

That thought froze Keith’s blood in his veins. What if there was a next time? Panchito hadn’t been the only one to cross Uncle Pedro—Lance had also gone against him. Sure, the older man was fond of his nephew, it just didn’t mean much in itself. He had also been fond of some colleagues that he’d gotten rid of over the years. Keith swallowed around the taste of bile at the back of his mouth. What the fuck had they been thinking, going behind that bastard’s back? This had been stupid. Even if Lance told his uncle he’d wanted to wait to see if the produce worked out before involving him, there was no telling Uncle Pedro would believe him. Would Lance even be able to lie to him to save his own skin?

Keith leaned back against the cold wall of the laundromat—he had to act. He couldn’t be one hundred percent sure that Uncle Pedro had killed Panchito. He was, however, one hundred percent sure that the man had been behind the theft of the Arts. It was only a matter of time before he punished Lance and Marco for it. Keith’s job was to protect Lance and he’d be damned if he failed this time.

He simply had to find a way to get rid of the head of their cartel without anyone suspecting him of being involved. Uncle Pedro had employees loyal to him. If they found him assassinated and linked the murder to Keith, they’d automatically assume Lance had given the order. Keith wasn’t an assassin—he didn’t know how not to leave a trace. There were people for that, assassins for hire who’d kill anyone for the right price. He could ask around but, once again, this was risky. It might lead back to him. An outsider couldn’t be trusted nor could someone killing for money. They were too easily subverted. No, Keith had to do it himself. Uncle Pedro didn’t partake into his own dope so his brain couldn’t get fried by the Arts. Getting him poisoned was almost impossible since he ate only food prepared in his own kitchen by his own loyal staff. Shooting him was more than impossible since Keith had no gun and wouldn’t know how to use one anyway. Stabbing him might not leave an easy trace to follow, it would still scream murder—their gang knew of Keith’s ability with a knife anyway. Keith wasn’t sure he could have gotten close enough to stab him—it wasn’t as if Uncle Pedro hugged people. He’d never shown any interest in Keith so seducing him might not be feasible.

This was a dead-end. On his own, Keith was powerless. He had no one to turn to that couldn’t end up dead because of him. He knew people, but they weren’t loyal to _him_ , they were loyal to Lance or, to an extent, to Uncle Pedro. It wasn’t as if he could turn to Adam or, hell, Shiro, for such a thing. Adam would have him committed to some insane asylum and Shiro, well, Shiro would surely approve with Adam’s idea. Who else did he know that had to ties to Lance? James? Keith scoffed—James wouldn’t piss on him if he were on fire after their last horrible parting. He was some snooty, rich lawyer so what did he know about killing someone? His father might have some tricks up his sleeve—too bad he was inaccessible. And there was Wor, except that the guy was—

Except that the guy was an alien. He was an alien who, how had he said it, could corrupt thoughts. Keith frowned, thinking fast. He’d suggested that he could bend Keith’s thoughts to his will, forcing him to do whatever he wanted. How did that work? He hadn’t elaborated much on it. Would that work on anyone? Could Wor somehow bend Uncle Pedro’s thoughts enough to force him to… to commit suicide? Oh, this was monstrous. This seemed hardly possible—Wor hadn’t made a demonstration so Keith didn’t know the extent of that power. Furthermore, would Wor accept to help? He’d said his species revelled in chaos and pain and horror, and he’d also said he was different. What if he were horrified at Keith’s idea? He’d said stuff as rape was common on Kaax'oits, so what about murder? Another question begged answer: was Keith willing to trust Wor that much? Wor would know he was behind the murder—he could hold it over Keith forever. It would be the word of a diplomat against the word of a whore. Shit. Wor was fond of him, that didn’t mean he was willing to commit murder for him. Even if he were willing, what if he asked for something in exchange? He knew Keith had no money, so what if he asked for something weird or painful? Keith shook his head—no, he was getting ahead of himself.  First, he had to ask if Wor was willing to do that. Then, they might discuss what Keith would have to do in exchange.

-

_[Keith] I need your help with something. Can we see each other soon?_

_[Wor] Of course. Tomorrow._

Satisfied, Keith put his PDA back into his pocket and made his way home. It was actually snowing, little white flakes falling lazily from the sky. It could have been beautiful if the scenery of low town hadn’t been so grey and depressing. Keith shivered, mostly out of dread of what was to come than out of cold. He’d grown up in the desert, away from the city, so he was fine with the cold. He was a little less fine with planning murder. Or, to be precise, planning to have someone commit murder on his behalf. He couldn’t let Panchito’s death go unpunished, especially not since he feared so much that Lance would be next. He couldn’t wait too long until he took action. It had to happen soon, before Uncle Pedro decided to get rid of his nephew next. He had half a mind to rush to the embassy neighbourhood and meet Wor right away, to set things in motion. He didn’t want to appear desperate, not in front of someone he knew so little of. Instead, he had to wait and stew in his own apprehension.

It had to be around noon by the time he got home. He’d been trudging the streets of their turf for most of the morning. His feet and hands were cold. He thought of curling up in bed next to Lance, perhaps take a little nap. His kidneys throbbed dully, easy to ignore after he’d taken some painkillers. Still, sitting down sounded like a great idea right now.

There was a sleek black car parked in front of his building. Keith immediately thought of Lotor—the prince had been the last visitor dumb enough to bring a car into low town. Except the blokes standing guard around it were all too humans. The adrenaline rush made him lightheaded—was this Uncle Pedro came to finish the job? But no, the man wasn’t stupid enough to assassinate his nephew in his own apartment or to announce his presence with a car. The vehicle was too sleek, too shiny to be one of his. It looked fresh out of the dealer. So what was it this time?

Once again, Keith had to announce his presence to the thugs. All of them were surprisingly fair-haired, a rare occurrence in Neo-Metropolis and an abnormality in low town. Keith expected to be frisked roughly, except that the man who searched him for weapons grinned foolishly. The three goons were looking stupidly happy and proud. They barely glanced at Keith as he was waved in. He looked at them, confused. It was a bit unsettling to see killing machines grinning like loons. It didn’t ease his worry much so he took the stairs two at the time. In the distance, he heard a baby crying—he would have put it out of his mind if the sound hadn’t seemingly come from his own flat.

What the hell?

He pushed open the front door. The cries became louder. Eyes wide, Keith walked in to see his living room filled with half a dozen people he’d never seen before. Lance was there too, gaping at an older gentleman in a nice suit. Beside the man was a young, blond-haired woman with a crying baby in her arms.

“K-Keith?” Lance spluttered. “Y-you’ve got to hear this!”

“What’s going on?”

“Did you know that Panchito had gotten a girl pregnant?!”

Oh. Oh, no. The young woman had to be Lena, the Polish girl Panchito had met months ago and had unknowingly gotten pregnant. She was beautiful, tall and elegant with long, blond hair, pale blue eyes, and skin white as snow. She was holding the baby uncertainly against her chest. The man beside her had a hand on her shoulder—judging by the similarities between their features, he had to be related to her, her father probably. Franciszek Kowalski, the head of the Polish cartel, a man not to be crossed.

Keith gulped. What was going on? Why were they here? Were they looking for Panchito? Did he know he was dead?

Lance explained in a few, rapid sentences that Lena had given birth three days ago, on the day Panchito had died. When she’d learned of it, she thought she could keep the child, but her father apparently wanted none of it. He thought his daughter would have no hopes of a good marriage if she had a baby to take care of, so she was giving the baby away to Panchito’s next-of-kin. Who happened to be Lance.

“Panchito said so many good things about you,” Lena said, smiling fondly at Lance. “You were like his brother.”

Lance smiled, touched by this. “Thank you.”

“So, Lance Álvarez, you’re willing to take guardianship of my granddaughter?” Franciszek demanded. He loomed over them all, glaring down at Lance. “You won’t give her away as soon as my back is turned?”

Lance stood his ground firmly. “No, I won’t. If I give my word, I won’t come back on it. I’ll take care of your granddaughter for Panchito’s sake.”

Keith could hardly believe his ears—was Lance going to _adopt_ the baby? This was ridiculous. This was happening way too fast. Keith lived here too, he should have been consulted first. He said nothing, knowing he couldn’t appear to disagree with his boss in front of a man like Franciszek. Why were they choosing Lance, though? Why not Luis? He was married and had already two children, what was one more? At least Luis knew how to raise a kid. Sure, Lance wanted to children, but surely not like that? Jeez, where were they going to keep a baby? There was barely enough room for the two of them, and what if Allura and Fala decided to come back? Five in a small apartment, Keith was going to murder someone.

Franciszek, proving once again that he was an excellent business who thought of everything, had brought a lawyer with him. Contracts had been prepared for Lance to sign. It was all very… official. It was all very unsettling. Lena didn’t seem to mind much having to give her child away—she wasn’t like Keith had heard. Was she so whipped by her father that she knew she couldn’t go against his will? Shit, why was everybody such a damn pussy with their parents? Did she want to keep the baby?

“Are you all right?” Lena asked him.

Keith blinked at her. “I, uh, yeah. It’s just… a lot to process.”

“Didn’t you know about Panchito and me?”

“Yeah, I did. He told me he had to marry you. I guess I kind of forgot about all of this after his death.”

Lena looked sad as she said: “It’s such a tragedy. He was a good boy, a good person. He would’ve made a wonderful husband. I’m glad his cousin is going to raise his daughter.”

“You can’t raise her?”

She shook her head. “No. My father doesn’t want me to. He says it’s unseemly for a woman to raise a child alone.” She lowered her voice. “I’m just glad to give her away. I don’t want her to grow up like I did.”

Keith quirked an eyebrow. “What, to be raised in privilege by an insanely rich parent?”

“No! To be raised in a strict, horrible family! I want her to have options, to do what she wants. I don’t want her to become a pawn of my father. From the way Panchito talked about all of you, you’re nice people. You have a right to your own mind. That’s now how things work for me.”

Keith didn’t know what to think of that. Sure, perhaps her father was too harsh. Did this justify her giving away her daughter so willingly? The poor girl was going to grow up in low town, in the worst part of the city. Maybe she wouldn’t even be allowed to visit upper town. How was she going to be educated if she couldn’t attend university? He kept quiet because this wasn’t of his business. He trusted Lance to know what he was doing. Most likely, it was all for Panchito’s sake, so they could have a tiny piece of him with them. Watching Lance’s huge smile as he read over the papers, Keith remembered that he might be the next to die. What was he thinking, taking custody of a child while his own life was so unstable? He looked so happy that Keith didn’t have the will to speak up.

Half an hour later, Franciszek and his Polish thugs were ready to leave. Carefully, Lena handed the bundled up baby to an eager Lance who took her easily. The baby whimpered without waking up.

“So, what do you want to call her?” Lance asked.

“Katarzyna,” Lena said without hesitation. “It’s a good Polish name. I want her to have a Polish name so she can remember her heritage.” She smiled brilliantly. “Thank you, Lance. If you don’t mind, I’ll come visit once in a while. Just to make sure she’s okay.”

“You can drop by anytime you want.” Lance’s face took on a serious expression. “I promise I’ll take care of her, Lena, for Panchito’s sake. She’ll want for nothing. I have a nephew and a niece so I know how to handle children.”

Lena laughed. Her eyes teared up. “I don’t doubt that. You’ve the looks of a good dad. Just… just don’t beat her too hard, okay?” She glanced fearfully over her shoulder at her father waiting for her by the door.

“I won’t! I promise I won’t ever raise a hand to her! That’s not how you raise children, anyway.”

Keith felt sick to his stomach. What was wrong with older men? Why did they have the need to beat their children? Lena’s scared look made him want to kill her father. Just like Panchito, she’d been cowed, beaten into submission, her opinions and wants discarded for the so called greater good. Shit, she was being made to give up her kid because of the father. Keith suddenly understood why Lena had been so adamant about marrying Panchito: she’d seen he was a good, gentle guy and had felt safe with him. Marrying him had been her way out of her father’s clutches. She’d known he’d be a gentle dad, probably much more than any guy her father obliged her to marry. Keith felt sorry for her despite barely knowing her.

Lena left, her back straight despite the tears in her eyes. The flat emptied of everybody but its two owners. They stood in the living room in silence, both contemplating what had just happened.

“So, uh,” Lance began awkwardly, “I’m sorry. I should’ve talked to you before accepting. I just didn’t think this would happen so fast.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lena called yesterday, asking if she could drop by to talk about Panchito. I’d heard he’d gotten with her, but I never suspected he’d gotten her pregnant! When she arrived with the baby, I didn’t know what to think. When she said she wanted _me_ to raise the baby, I thought she was joking! Then she recounted that she was supposed to marry Panchito and now that he was dead, she had to give the baby away. She didn’t want her to go into the system so—”

“You did the right thing!” Keith cut in abruptly. “No kid should go into the system!”

Lance stared at him, uncomprehending. “What? O-oh. Oh, shit, that’s right! You’re an orphan! You were in the system!” He groaned. “Still, I’m sorry. You live here, I shouldn’t make this kind of decisions without you. They put me on the spot. Next stop after here was the orphanage…”

“It’s okay, don’t apologize. It’s Panchito’s daughter, so it’s okay. He’d be glad you’re the one raising her.”

Lance laughed, sounding both terrified and relieved. “That’s my man! I don’t think I’d be able to do this without you!” He nodded towards a pile of boxes placed neatly by the wall. “At least Lena brought us everything we might need. Time to unpack.”

They stood by the boxes, staring at them. They were neatly labeled—milk, bottles, diapers, clothes, bassinet. Keith felt a sense of overwhelming despair steal over him. He had no idea how to raise a kid, much less an infant. Katarzyna was so damn tiny in Lance’s arms he didn’t know how they were going to avoid breaking her. Lena had made a mistake—Lance and he were criminals, drug dealers, they couldn’t raise a child! And yet, Lance’s parents had done it. Luis had done it. Keith suddenly felt very young and untried, ridiculous, clumsy. The mere thought of unpacking baby things from those boxes made him ill at ease. A baby! An infant not a week old! She needed her mother, not two clumsy idiots!

“Keith, mate, you’re hyperventilating,” Lance said gently, bumping their shoulders. “You’re going to be a great dad.”

“I-I… no! I mean, you’re her dad. I-I can’t touch her. I’ll hurt her.”

“What? Nonsense! You never hurt Luis’ kids!”

“They weren’t infants—”

Keith didn’t know how to put into words what was roiling in his mind. He looked at the baby, at Katarzyna, and couldn’t imagine ever doing well by her. He feared he’d hurt her, _dirty_ her, somehow. This was all so sudden, so new, he hadn’t had time to adjust to this new reality. People usually didn’t just inherit kids—they had at least nine months to get used to the idea. He hadn’t. It had all just dropped into his lap. A kid, damn it, a kid! That morning he’d woken up with murder in his heart and now he was expected to raise a child?

Before he had time to finish his sentence, Lance was handing him the baby. Keith had no other choice but to take her if he didn’t want her to fall on the floor. His whole body froze, his arms extended comically and full of a pink blanket. He was dimly aware of Lance talking to him gently. Very slowly, he cradled the baby better, trying to be careful. Katarzyna slept on, apparently unminding of what was happening around her. Only her tiny face peeked from between the folds of blankets. Her skin was white and wrinkled, still blotchy in places. There were wisps of pale hair atop her head. Her eyes were closed so he didn’t know what colour they were. Did she look like Panchito? Would she take after her beautiful mother? Would she—

She opened her eyes. They were green. Then she opened her mouth. And wailed.


	23. Chapter 23

“I’m going to die,” Lance said, exhausted.

His parents had just left. The flat was finally empty. The day had been full of visiting family members wanting to see Lance’s new daughter. Keith and he had decided last night that they wouldn’t say Katarzyna was Panchito’s daughter—they both feared Uncle Pedro would try to lay claim of her. The story was that Lance had gotten a girl pregnant nine months ago. They had agreed that she would keep the child but had died during birth so the daughter had been given to her father. Lance’s mother had narrowed her eyes at this, sensing the lie without actually calling them out on it. Marco and Luis were both ecstatic—the poor girl was going to be doted on by her uncles, that was for sure. Luis’ children had been fascinated by the baby, asking to hold her and, embarrassingly, demanding to know where she had come from. Hunk, who’d been told the truth, had bawled like a child as he held Katarzyna, the baby comically tiny in his huge paws. He’d promised to make tons of food for her.

Throughout this, Keith had been feeling slightly detached. He suspected this wasn’t only because he’d barely slept that night. He’d looked at the Álvarez family, his heart full to bursting with unnameable emotions. Love and fondness and pride and fear that this could all be taken away. Uncle Pedro had visited, of course, and Keith had wanted to murder him when he’d taken Katarzyna in his arms. He’d barely been able to restrain himself from glaring at the man and speaking civilly to him had been difficult. He’d stared, trying to read his thoughts, trying to see in his features Panchito’s murder. His presence had been enough to make Keith physically uncomfortable, like he needed to puke after a bad bout of indigestion. Thankfully, nobody seemed to have noticed his unease, not even Lance who’d been too busy preening like the proud new father he was.

“You don’t mind if I go out later, right?” Keith asked.

They were sitting on the floor of the living room, their back resting against the couch. Katarzyna was asleep in her bassinet, apparently also exhausted for having been handled by strangers for the whole day.

“Keith!” Lance whined, resting his head on Keith’s shoulder. “You can’t abandon me like that!”

“But I have to. Work calls.”

“You prefer your alien to me,” Lance grumbled with a pout.

“No, that’s not true. I have to work. Gotta save up for Katarzyna’s university.”

Lance laughed. “I knew you’d take to her!”

“I’m simply being prudent.” He elbowed Lance. “And of course I’d take to your daughter, you idiot.”

“She can be your daughter too if you want to.”

“No. One day, you’ll marry a girl and she’ll be Katarzyna’s other parent. In the meantime, I’m happy to help.”

Lance said nothing.

Keith surveyed their messy apartment—he’d never expected having a child could make such a mess of things. They’d unpacked the stuff Lena had brought them yesterday. There simply wasn’t enough room for everything. Katarzyna’s clothes had been piled in one corner until they got a dresser. The three boxes of diapers took up most of the empty space in the entry closet. Everything else had been strewn a bit everywhere. Last night, after they’d managed to put Katarzyna down to sleep for the night, they’d lied on Lance’s bed, exhausted, and he’d suggested they might need a larger apartment. Things would get even more hectic if Allura and Fala had to move back in. Keith didn’t want to think about this right now.

“All right, I got to go.” Keith got to his feet. “I’ll be back in the morning. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Lance pouted. “Fine. You go have your fun.”

Planning murder isn’t fun. Keith said instead: “Sure. I’ll let you sleep in tomorrow.”

Lance kept pouting, too tired to come up with a retort. Keith patted his hair and went to his room to change—no way in hell was he leaving the house with baby puke on his shirt. He’d changed thrice today. With the already overflowing laundry basket, a trip to the laundromat would be in order. Lance’s mother had told them that babies threw up often so they were going to make the trip to the laundromat more often ever. Yeah, a new apartment really was in order. Keith scowled at the thought as he pulled on a fresh pair of pants. The best thing to do would be to actually move the whole family to upper town. It would be safer and Katarzyna would have access to better schools. Keith could hardly believe he had to think about this kind of stuff now. He’d said he wasn’t Katarzyna’s dad, yet a tiny part of himself yearned for it. It was stupid, it was terrifying—he’d never had an ounce of paternal instinct in his life. He’d never wanted children, had never thought he’d be in a secure position enough to raise a family.

He shook his head—now wasn’t the time to think about this. Whether Katarzyna was his daughter or not, Lance was still his older brother and Keith needed to protect him at all costs. He had to avenge Panchito. By getting rid of Uncle Pedro, he was making the whole Álvarez family that much safer. He put his jacket on, jammed his hat on, and left silently.

Cold winds buffeted him as soon as he set foot out of the building. He gasped at the cold air whipping around his cheeks. He stood there for a moment, basking in the clean odours of upcoming snow, a great improvement to that of baby barf and full diapers. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he quickly made his way towards the hotel. In the cold, dark night, it was easy to turn his thoughts towards avenging Panchito. He didn’t get his hopes too high however—there was no telling that Wor would agree to help him. He’d listen, he wouldn’t report his intentions, but that didn’t mean he’d help. Keith had thought about lying about Uncle Pedro. He knew Wor was a jealous lover so saying that Uncle Pedro had forced himself on him would surely move him to murder. Keith didn’t want to lie. To be honest, he didn’t want the bastard to die because of _him_. Sure, he’d been hard on Keith, not unjustly so. Keith had hated being belted and he’d hated being indebted and being called _rent boy_ all the time, it still didn’t warrant murder. What he’d done to Panchito did, so Keith was going to tell Wor about that. Uncle Pedro had murdered his friend and he needed to die for this. He was putting Lance in danger and that was unforgivable. Simple.

Would Wor ask for anything in exchange? That was possible and Keith was willing to pay any necessary price. He wasn’t afraid of what the alien might ask—he doubted this would be anything that could cause him pain or even discomfort. Most likely it would be something sexual—everything between them eventually turned that way. Keith wouldn’t mind—sex with Wor didn’t feel like work. It was good, very good, rewarding, mind-blowing. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of it. There were times when he went to bed and jerked off to the mere thought of it. So maybe Wor would ask they meet more often. That, Keith would be more than willing to accept.

The lobby of the hotel was warm. He went through the process of showing his ID, wondering why a stupid AI couldn’t remember him. When everything was cleared, he went to the second floor as always. How often were they going to be meeting here now? They hadn’t talked about it—in fact, they hadn’t talked about much what this new situation between them meant. Keith had never had his license belong only to one person so he didn’t know how things were supposed to be. He was fine with the way things were—he just hoped that, maybe, some day, they wouldn’t have to meet in this hotel anymore.

He knocked on the door out of habit and walked in after being asked too. Once again, darkness greeted his eyes. He knew the layout of the room well enough not to have to wait for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. He went directly for Wor, knowing where he’d be standing waiting for him.

“So,” Keith began, “today’s the day I finally get to see what you look like.”

“Ah? Is it?”

“Yeah. I’m getting tired of skulking in the shadows.”

“We talked about that, darling.”

“Sure. You think I’ll be scared of you because of your appearance or something. It won’t happen. I’m not a coward, you know that.”

“It’s not about being a coward. I’ve watched the reaction of humans when they see me for the first time. They all are horrified.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I won’t be horrified, I swear.”

Wor sighed. “All right, I’ll think about this, darling. What I wouldn’t do for you. Come here, you look cold.” He pulled Keith against him. “Humans are so susceptible to the elements. It’s a miracle you’ve survived so long with this weak body.”

Wor’s own body wasn’t very warm through his clothes, nothing like that of a human. Keith nonetheless allowed the hug, if only because it gave him an idea of the shape of the other. It didn’t feel that weird, just different. Maybe it was the face the problem? Keith hadn’t been allowed to touch his face once after all.

Pushing this to the side, he took a step back to start pulling off his clothes. He shivered in both anticipation at what was to come and at the cool air of the room. He removed his jacket and then his shirt before throwing both garments aside. He was about to unzip his pants when Wor wrapped one of his odd hands around his wrist.

“Keith, wait. What’s those bruises on your back?”

Shit, he’d completely forgotten about those. He hissed in pain when Wor touched the small of his back, just above the waistband of his pants. He’d checked on the bruises that morning and, though they were no longer black, they had turned a sickening yellowish colour. He hadn’t expected Wor to spot them so quickly.

“I was in a fight,” Keith explained. “That’s why I was in the hospital.”

“A fight?”

“Yeah. I was with my friends and… I’m friend with drug dealers. We were in that plant where they make the drugs and thieves snuck in. They wanted that new drug our cook has been developing. Things got ugly. They probably wouldn’t have hurt me if I hadn’t tried to stop them.” Keith’s voice cracked involuntarily as he said: “They killed one of my friends.”

“Oh. Darling, I apologize for this.” A pause. “You’re sad.”

“Of course I’m sad!” Keith barked without thinking. “Panchito was the sweetest guy ever! He didn’t deserve that! If it hadn’t been for him, I’d still be on the streets! I owe him everything I have! I should’ve been more careful, I shouldn’t have fought those thieves… maybe if… maybe if I’d just stayed put I’d have seen he was in danger and I could’ve helped him…”

He trailed off, realising with dawning horror that he’d raised his voice at Wor. He took a step back, aghast at his behaviour. What the hell was wrong with him? Things weren’t supposed to go like this. He wasn’t supposed to lose control of his emotions like that. There was a knot of pain behind his breastbone that he didn’t understand. His throat was tight.

“His father killed him,” he continued in a whisper. “I’m sure of it.”

“Is this a common thing, father killing their son?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that Panchito didn’t deserve to die like that. He was shot from behind, by a coward. His father’s an asshole. I’ve always hated him. He’s the head of our cartel. He treats everybody like garbage, especially his own family. I’ve seen him belt his son and his nephew for the stupidest reasons.”

“Keith, you never told me you were part of a drug cartel.”

Keith hesitated and shrugged. “No, that’s not something I advertise. Most people know. Is that a problem?”

“No. I just know cartels are troublesome and dangerous.”

“I’m sorry. This sucks, I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. It’s just… fresh, I guess.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not because I don’t understand your grief that I cannot commiserate with it.” He gently touched Keith’s cheek. “I am sorry for the loss of your friend. Clearly, you loved him very much.”

“Yeah, I did. I’m going to avenge him. I’ve reasons to believe the guy who killed him might come after my other friend. I can’t let that happen. I’ll be honest, Wor—I need your help for this.”

Heart hammering, Keith listened to the silence, wondering what effect his words were going to have on Wor. He feared he might have overstepped—he hadn’t planned to be this emotive. He didn’t want to manipulate Wor or guilt-trip him into helping. Every time he spoke of Panchito, that pain in his chest re-emerged, making it difficult to get his emotions straight. Maybe it would have been better not to imply Panchito at all, just hint that Uncle Pedro was an ass and that Keith needed to get rid of him for his own safety. Wor might have been moved to help him more if it had been to save his own skin. Still, Keith didn’t like to work with deceit. His father had often said that the truth was much more convincing than any kind of lie. Furthermore, Keith didn’t want to spoil his relationship with Wor with a lie. The guy could tamper with thoughts, damn it, there was no telling he couldn’t sense a lie or a half-truth.

“Go on,” Wor said carefully.

“Short story is, I need to get rid of that man and I need to make it look like a suicide. I can’t do it myself, I don’t have the skills for it. You said you could manipulate thoughts, so I want you to make him _want_ to kill himself. In exchange, I’m willing to do whatever you want. I’ll pay whatever price you set, I don’t mind.”

Another long silence. Keith wiped the clammy palms of his hands on his pants. Whether he’d overstepped or not, he couldn’t tell. So he waited and hoped.

“I see. You are willing to pay _any_ price for this?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain, darling?”

“Yes.” Keith had to make a conscious effort to hide the tremors in his voice.

“Very well. I want you to marry me.”

Keith opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. He gaped, eyes going wide. This—this wasn’t what he had expected. He had no idea what to say. His face warmed. This was so out of the blue he couldn’t begin to think of what to answer. Shit, marriage? It had never crossed his mind that aliens like Wor married or even knew of such a customs. They weren’t of the same species—how could marriage work?

“I—I,” he spluttered. “That’s not—that’s… it’s…”

“It’s a joke, darling.”

“A-a what?”

“A joke. I wanted to see your reaction.” There was unabashed mirth in Wor’s voice. “Let me assure you that it was priceless. Your fair skin makes it oh so easy to spot a blush.”

Keith flushed. “Oh. Y-you’re… you’re making fun of me!”

“A little bit. I do apologize, it was too easy. I’ve been reading on human customs and marriage was mentioned. You gave me the perfect opportunity. Come here, come to bed. Let me make it up to you.”

And did he make it up to him a thousand times over.

Dawn had to be nearing when Keith said: “So, I forgive you for making fun of me.”

“I am very relieved to hear it, darling. Is your back paining you? I tried to be careful, but it was difficult not to touch the bruises.”

“It’s fine.” Keith yawned. “Does your kind ever sleep?”

“We don’t need sleep, at least not the kind you need. One part of our brain rests while the rest functions. It saves time.”

“Uh, neat. So you won’t sleep with me?”

“I’m afraid not. Lying next to you would simply make me want to take you again. It’s getting too light in the room, anyway. I should leave you to your rest.”

Keith sat up and grabbed Wor’s arm. “No, wait!”

“Keith, darling, you know I will help you kill this man. It’ll be my pleasure. Just tell me when you need it done.”

“That’s not it. I know you’ll help.” He got out of bed to stand in front of the other. “I want to see you.”

“Keith—”

“Please, come on.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not moving from here. The room’ll lighten when the sun rises so I’ll see you one way or the other.”

“There’s really nothing you can do to stop me from leaving. It’s adorable how you think you can.”

“It’s adorable how you think I’ll change my mind.”

“You know you’re beautiful when you get puffed up like that? You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, Keith. I’d hate to lose you.”

“Urgh, you _won’t_ lose me because of your appearance! We’ve had this argument before anyway so let me turn on the light.”

“No.”

“Let me touch your face at least. You nearly gave me a heart attack when you asked me to marry you so your face can’t be as jarring. What would you have done if I’d said yes, eh? You wouldn’t have had any excuses.”

Wor heaved a sigh. “You’re stubborn, my love, I’ll give you that. Very well, you can touch my face. I apologize in advance for any nightmare that will haunt you afterwards.”

Keith scoffed and stepped closer. Behind his brave façade, his heart hammered inside his chest. He didn’t really know what to expect. There were tons of aliens living in low town so he was used to an anatomy differing from the human one. Hearing Wor talk about his physiognomy made him wonder just _how_ different from the rest of the aliens living on Earth he could be.

Pushing his doubts aside, Keith reached up and tentatively pressed his hands to Wor’s face. The skin there felt as it felt everywhere else: chillier than human skin, bumpy, scaly, and slightly slimy. There seemed to be no solid bones beneath. The shape of the skull was different from that a human, more diamond-shaped than rounded. The jawline was very bumpy, not sharp at all. The features were, well, difficult to explain. He felt no nose, no lips, no eyelids, no eyebrows. There was a brow ridge but apparently no eyes beneath. He could hardly make sense of what he was touching. He tried to put together a picture of what his fingertips were touching without much success.

“How do you see if you have no eyes?”

“I do have an eye. It is situated lower, near the bottom of my face.”

Keith shivered. “It’s weird.”

“I told you it was, darling. Surely it’s enough for you.”

“No. I want to _see_. I can’t form a picture in my mind just touching you.”

“You said my one eye was weird.”

“It’s also weird that you have more than one dick. Weird isn’t necessarily bad.”

Wor chuckled. “Ah, yes, that. You do seem to appreciate that feature. Other lovers haven’t always been so fond of it.”

“Other lovers were dumb. Don’t try to distract me! Let me turn the light on. Maybe I’ll like what I see.”

A sigh. Wor took a while to answer. There was a tension to his body Keith wasn’t used to. Despite the teasing tone he used, he really was self-conscious about his appearance. This endeared him to Keith for some reason—he thought it oddly sweet that an alien who came from a planet of people who enjoyed torturing others for fun could be shy.

“Very well, darling. Do what you must. Once again, I apologize in advance.”

Keith hesitated for half a second. He schooled his features, forcing them into a neutral expression while he reached for the small lamp on the bedside table. He turned it on, keeping his eyes averted until they grew accustomed to the yellowish dim light. Then, very slowly, he turned his head towards where Wor stood. He couldn’t stop a gasp from rushing past his lips. His eyes widened against his will as he stared at the alien. It took all his willpower not to take a step back. His heart had leapt uncomfortably high in his throat. He stood there, frozen, beholding the alien who had bought his license. Wor hadn’t lied—he was truly horrible. Keith couldn’t make sense of his features—that thing didn’t resemble a face at all. The skin colour was a sickly grey-beige, totally hairless. He couldn’t see a mouth or a nose, and the one eye he saw was green, vertical, and unblinking.

For a few long seconds, he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak as his brain tried to make sense of all of this. A part of himself was totally horrified that he’d allowed _this_ to fuck him, while the other screamed at him to get a grasp on himself. Before he had time to think what to do, Wor was moving. He stepped close and slapped the lamp off the bedside table. It shattered as it hit the floor, plunging anew the room in paling darkness.

The sound woke Keith from his daze. “Oh. Oh, shit. I’m so sorry,” he spluttered.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to scare you.”

Was that it? Had he been scared? He shook his head. “You didn’t scare me. I was surprised, that’s all. You look… different from what I’m used to.”

“You looked scared, darling. Horrified, even.”

“I was _not_ scared,” Keith said firmly. “I’m _not_ scared. Shit, I haven’t run away screaming so that can’t be so bad, right?”

“I doubt running away and screaming is your type.”

“No. If I get scared, I get rid of what scares me. You’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Keith, darling, there’s no need to spare my feelings. I completely understand your reaction. I’d also completely understand if you wish for us to revoke our contract.”

“What? No, no! Wor, don’t be like that!” Keith sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, look, sure, you’re not the prettiest man I’ve ever seen, but I don’t give a shit. I told you before I don’t care about appearances. I much prefer a guy who’s nice than a guy with a handsome face.”

“So if I wanted to have sex with you again, you’d say yes?”

“I’d say hell yes, let’s do it! I won’t recoil from you or anything. I’m always horny when I’m with you anyway.” Keith grabbed what he supposed was Wor’s arm and pulled him towards the bed. “Come on. Gotta put those dicks to good use.”

Wor chuckled, a sound between relief and true amusement. “I really cannot refuse you anything, my love. Perhaps I have another feature you might like?” He leaned in and whispered: “I have a very, very long tongue.”

Keith closed his eyes, shivering. “Shit.”

“Get on your hands and knees, darling.”

-

Keith was immensely glad for the cold air of early morning. His knees were still slightly wobbly as he made his way home, brain foggy from the mind-blowing sex he’d just had. This had been an odd night and an even odder morning. In the end, he’d gotten what he’d wanted: Wor would help him get rid of Uncle Pedro. With the mess he’d made after seeing his face, Keith had thought Wor would be angry or disappointed in him. For a few agonizing seconds, he’d been certain this would be the end of their partnership. Instead, he’d managed to convince the other that he hadn’t been scared, merely surprised. And it hadn’t been a lie—he’d felt no fear. Wor had either sensed this or believed him. Things had gotten quite heated afterwards, much to Keith’s delight, so he supposed the air had been cleared between them. They were again on good terms. It would just take him a while to adjust to Wor’s face.

At home, Lance was sprawled on the couch with dark circles beneath his eyes. Katarzyna was asleep in her bassinet, totally uncaring that she’d apparently kept her adoptive father awake all night.

“You look awful,” Keith said. He sat before motioning for Lance to rest his head on his lap. “Wanna nap while I keep an eye on her?”

“Gotta work…” Lance mumbled, voice muffled against the fabric of Keith’s pants. “Hmm, so comfy…”

“What?”

“I’ve hired some blokes to guard the plant.” Lance rubbed his eyes. “I don’t want a repeat of what happened last time. I wanna make sure they’re doing their job.”

“I see. That’s a good idea. Hunk and Pidge are fine with starting work again?”

“Hm. Yeah, I think so. By the way, Allura texted me. Fala and she are moving back in. It’s getting dangerous for them in upper down. You okay with this?”

Keith minded a bit—four adults in one small flat was too tight a squeeze, never mind with a child now. He just couldn’t refuse, not when things were unsafe for the Alteans on the other side of the bridge. He wondered wryly why Lotor, who seemed so eager to please Allura, wasn’t offering to pay for her lodgings elsewhere. Most likely he’d offered and she’d refused out of pride. Damn, she was a bit like him on this, wasn’t she?

“It’s fine. If it’s long-term though, we might consider moving.”

Lance heaved a sigh. “I know. Katarzyna’s gonna need her room when she’s older anyway.” He smiled. “That’s kind of nice, don’t you think, us living with two beautiful girls?”

“Uh, no?”

“Well, I think I’m lucky! I’m going to be living the dream! Two beautiful women, the only hot guy I’ve ever met, and a pretty daughter!”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Whatever fantasy you’re coming up with right now, stop it.”

“Aww, but it’s fun!” Lance pressed his face into Keith’s thigh. “Shit, Keith, you’ve got the comfiest, plumpest thighs ever… I could sleep like this for the rest of my life.”

“Right. Don’t you have somewhere you’ve got to be?”

Lance laughed and sat up. “So, did you have fun with your alien? You do look kind of wrung out.”

“Shit, yes. Everything below the belt hurts. Best lay I’ve had in a while.”

Lance wrinkled his nose. “Better than me?”

Keith threw him a look. Lance pouted exaggeratedly before getting up and going to his bedroom to change out of his pajamas. Keith groaned, rubbing his face. He was tired and totally freaked at the thought of staying alone with Katarzyna. She was sleeping right now, but he knew she could wake up in a matter of seconds. So far, Lance had mostly been the one taking care of her. He was good at it—he had no trouble getting her to drink from the bottle and he was able to change her diaper in the blink of an eye. She obviously loved him already. She stopped fretting whenever he picked her up. Keith did his best, really. He was all thumbs, always afraid to hurt her. This was apparently hilarious because Lance had filmed him while he was changing her out of her stained pajama, and he’d spent the rest of the evening laughing his silly head off while re-watching it. It had been admittedly funny—Keith had watched himself floundering, face red, eyes huge, touching the baby with only the tips of his fingers, sweating like an idiot. He’d grinned proudly at the camera afterward, up until he’d picked Katarzyna and she’d chosen to throw up on him rather than on herself this time. Marvelous.

When he was ready to leave, Lance gave him a peck on the brow and promised to come running if Keith needed help. His mother was also sitting by her phone, ready to rush to his aid. Keith felt like an utter idiot for being so dependent on other people. He hoped he wouldn’t need to call anyone—everybody seemed to instinctively know what to do with a kid, so why not him?

After the door closed behind Lance, Keith crouched by Katarzyna’s bassinet, looking at her sleeping face. She looked comfortable there amidst her mountain of blankets. He was envious of her—he just wanted to lie down in his bed to sleep the rest of the day away. Still, he at least could catch a quick nap until she woke up.

He’d just laid on the couch when she started whimpering. All right, no sleep just yet. He got up, picked her up, and went to the kitchen to feed her. It still felt utterly strange to be holding such a tiny, warm body in his arms. Lance had assured him that infants this young were a lot tougher than they looked. Keith could hardly believe him—Katarzyna’s fingers were so minuscule, no bigger than a match, how could she be tough? He handled her very gently until she laid into the crook of his left arm so he could give her the bottle with his right hand. As he watched her feed greedily, he wondered who she was going to look like as she grow up: her pretty mother Lena or her loveable father Panchito. It would probably be best if she didn’t get too pretty—pretty girls were always preyed upon. Maybe he’d teach her martial arts when she came of age. That way, she’d be able to defend herself against unwanted male attention.

That simple thought warmed Keith. He’d have something to give her, something only _he_ could give. He was all thumbs and awkward and uncertain with her, and that would certainly get worse as she grew older, but he’d be able to give her the gift of self-defence. He smiled into her uncaring face.

He rested her against his shoulder once she was done with her bottle, patting her back gently. She was warm and soft, her weight somehow reassuring despite its newness. And she didn’t even throw up on him this time.

He sat back on the couch, keeping her cradled against him with a blanket to ward off a chill, and he spent the rest of the day watching telly and browsing the IG for tips on how to raise a child.

-

Allura and Fala, just like everybody else, fell headlong into love for Katarzyna. The second they saw her, they were on her, cooing at her, making faces, letting the baby grab their fingers and giggling at her huge eyes. Keith saw Lance melt when Allura picked up his daughter. He went all gooey, probably imagining all the children he’d like to have with her. Keith had to admit it was kind of cute: just like him, Allura was a tiny bit awkward with the baby. She quickly got her bearings, holding Katarzyna as if she’d had done so a thousand times before. Fala was more of a natural—it showed in the way she wasn’t afraid of hurting Katarzyna.

“She’s always loved children,” Allura said fondly as she watched her friend kneel on the blanket on the floor to change Katarzyna’s diaper.

“I can tell,” Keith replied.

As he had expected, the flat felt way too tiny with the five of them crammed into its four, small rooms. They were always stepping on each other’s toes, sitting too close to each other and ruining the meaning of personal space. With four adults, the hot water reservoir was nearly always empty, as was the fridge. To the opposite, the laundry basket overflowed as did the sink with dishes and the garbage can with trash. Lance had permanently moved into Keith’s room. It had taken hours for him to find a satisfactory way to store all of his clothes into a dresser already too small for Keith’s belongings. Allura and Fala now had garments of their own, thanks to Pidge, and they too had trouble fitting it all in three drawers. Thankfully, the four of them were able to be conciliatory so no spark flew. Fala had a knack for home décor because she found ways to store everything in a more or less efficient manner. Soon, Katarzyna’s own stuff was put away rather than lying pell-mell on every flat surface. They even found a way to assemble Katarzyna’s crib in Keith’s room.

So now Keith found himself sleeping with two people in his room, a thing he still wasn’t sure he liked. When he got up in the morning, Allura was already in the kitchen, which forced them to socialise. Things were awkward between them—clearly Allura’s unease with him being half-Galra hadn’t eased. She did her best, he had to give her that, so he did his best to be pleasant.

Things hadn’t been easy for Fala and her in upper town. When they’d arrived two days ago, Fala had a large gash on her forehead. Apparently, someone had thrown a rock at her on the street. Just like that—some random passer-by had seen an Altean woman and assaulted her without provocation. Ever since Prince Lotor had publicly announced that he wished for the Alteans to integrate their society by giving them jobs, this had become common over the past few weeks. Keith hadn’t really followed the news, so Allura put him up to speed. There had been demonstrations on the streets by humans and aliens alike, saying they wouldn’t accept that their job be stolen by newcomers. Prince Lotor had tried to calm things to no avail. He was accused of favouritism. In the meantime, Commander Sendak gained in popularity by siding with the demonstrators, adding fuel to the fire at every chance he got. He went as far as telling the people that Alteans could change their appearance, that they could be hiding anywhere amongst ordinary folk. This fear mongering had made it impossible for honest Alteans to work. Some had been expulsed from their lodgings while others were refused care in hospitals. Last Allura had heard, almost every Altean had lost their job—business owners didn’t want to anger the crowd. Those Alteans who could had moved back to lower town while others clung to what they’d been given by Lotor. The prince had promised that the quarters he’d had made for them would be ready presently, which made him even less popular. Upper towners were horrified that the Alteans would be given free lodgings while they had to pay huge amounts for their flat or house.

While they were living with Pidge, Prince Lotor had often visited Allura and Fala, which had made the Holt family even less popular. It made Matt’s and his father’s job working for Commander Sendak that much more difficult. Chief Holt was low-key being pressured into early retirement while it had been suggested that Matt change job completely. The DEA had been deemed a waste of money anyway—there were much more pressing matters than jailing petty drug dealers apparently.

“They say there’s a terrorist on the loose in upper town, so the DEA is being converted into an anti-terrorist unit,” Allura said gravely.

Keith didn’t know what to answer to that. His first feeling about this was betrayal. This was something huge and Shiro hadn’t shared it with him. It was still total radio silence from Shiro. It had been three weeks since his confession. Keith hadn’t given up—he checked his phone every few hours, hoping. Nothing. This news Allura was announcing felt like the last nail in the coffin. Shiro was either angry at him or he’d thought it best to cut all ties. He tasted bile at the back of his throat. It wasn’t fair. Shiro shouldn’t do that. It was cruel and he was never, ever a cruel person. Keith’s confession must have hit a nerve. Maybe Shiro saw this as Keith ruining the friendship they’d shared for years. Maybe he’d heard the desperation in Keith’s voice and preferred to keep silent, knowing a refusal, no matter how gentle, wouldn’t go overly well. Maybe he now saw Keith as bratty or childish—who confessed over the phone except for a youth? Or, worse of all, maybe he was disgusted—it wasn’t everybody who’d liked to be confessed to by a retired whore, and Keith’s job had never sat well with Shiro. Whatever the reason, Shiro hadn’t called back, hadn’t texted, leaving Keith in total darkness.

There were times when that darkness threatened to engulf him. Keith’s chest got tight whenever the thought of never seeing Shiro again crossed his mind. It felt as if he’d been locked in a box with too little air and no light whatsoever. Had he ruined everything? He should have kept his mouth shut, should have endured. It was better to be friends with Shiro than have nothing at all with him. Keith refused to give up, yet he didn’t know what he waited for anymore. He’d be happy with just a sign, anything to put an end to that misery.

“A terrorist?” he asked when the silence had stretched too long.

Allura peered at him uncertainly. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, just tired. A terrorist, you were saying?”

She shrugged. “Yes. Someone has been targeting Galra important locations, such as the shipyards and the military’s command centres. They have no idea who it is. They suspect it might the same group that killed Emperor Zarkon.”

Ah, yes, that mysterious black-clad figure Keith had seen on Shiro’s computer. He’d been so preoccupied with his own worries that he hadn’t even heard about this. He couldn’t quite bring himself to care—the Galras were their overlords, but nobody in low town liked them much, Keith included. It was simply surprising that a group was daring to raise against them, now of all times. The rumours that had Emperor Zarkon as the one holding the empire together hadn’t been exaggerations. Ever since his death, everything had been falling apart slowly, on Earth and every other planet the Galra had laid claim to.

Was Shiro still investigating the emperor’s murder? Had he made any headway? Keith would probably never know. He didn’t want to think about this, not in front of Allura’s inquisitive eyes. Nobody knew of his falling out with Shiro, not even Lance or Adam, and Allura certainly wouldn’t be the first to be told.

Allura and Fala kept busy as best they could. Fala got hired as a maid at one of the many love hotels that littered low town. It was a degrading, tough job that she did with her usual enthusiasm. Apparently, Prince Lotor had offered Allura a stipend for their upkeep that she had vehemently refused. She said they were going to work like everybody else. Allura might be a princess, she had no qualms about getting her hands dirty. Jobs weren’t that numerous to start with in low town, especially not for a pretty young woman like her. Lance arranged things behind her back—he went to a restaurant owner he knew and _insisted_ the man hire her as a waitress. The man, who bought his dope from Marco, accepted. Allura’s charisma did the rest. She revelled in the ordinary job, saying it was much, much better than living in a tunnel underground. She loved people and found Earth customs to be endlessly fascinating. She came home smelling like oil and foreign spices with a huge smile on her face. Fala and she could spend hours exchanging stories about odd things that had happened to them, laughing.

Their cheer helped Keith. It was invigorating to see them happy over the silliest happenstances. It put things into perspective. He still looked at his PDA all the time, still hoped for a sign from Shiro, and still despaired in the middle of the night. In the daylight when they were all together however, the knot in his throat eased somewhat.

Now, if only he could find the perfect occasion to strike at Uncle Pedro. Whenever Lance left the house and Keith couldn’t follow, he worried, sure that he’d never see his friend again. He insisted Lance stay home to care for Katarzyna while he dealt with the business. Sometimes, Lance accepted while at other times he wanted to go personally. He kept an eye on the plant where Pidge and Hunk worked, not wanting a repeat of last time. The thugs he’d hired did a good job. The Arts was only one side of their business so there was still things Lance had to do, dealers he had to meet, cooks he had to hire, and demands he had to satisfy. With Luis trying his best to pull away from the cartel, a lot of his tasks were falling on Lance. It meant that Lance often met with Uncle Pedro. Every time these two met, Keith would be on edge. He tried to tag along when he could without arousing too much suspicion. Lance wasn’t that dense—if Keith never left him leave the home alone, he’d start asking questions.

Katarzyna’s presence hindered his plans. There of course always had to be someone with her. Since Fala and Allura both had regular jobs with a regular schedule, they rarely could babysit the girl during the day. Lance’s own business tended to take place after nightfall, but his meetings with important people usually happened during the day. Keith was then left with the babysitting duty since he had no job to attend to. When he could, he got away with asking Lance’s mother to keep an eye on Katarzyna. The older woman wasn’t getting any younger and taking care of an infant was demanding, so Keith kept his demands to a minimum. In the end, he was stuck home far too often.

Finally, Uncle Pedro called for _him_ because Lance was busy with dealing with an unreliable mover. Keith couldn’t believe his luck—he thought he’d go mad with waiting. This was the perfect opportunity for Uncle Pedro liked to meet those of his inner circle at his own home, away from prying eyes. Keith had been there often enough to know the layout of the place. He knew the thugs hired by Uncle Pedro and, more importantly, knew which one were lax in their duties. He had to meet the older man at nine, which meant that both Allura and Fala would be home for Katarzyna.

As soon as the call ended, he texted Wor.

_[Keith] If you’re still down to help me, it happens tonight._

_[Wor] Yes, of course. Kindly send me the address and I will take care of the person._

_[Keith] No. I want to be there. I want him to know I did this._

_[Wor] Darling, this is dangerous. If someone knows you were there, they might suspect you._

_[Keith] Nobody knows. I know what I’m doing._

_[Wor] Very well. I shall trust your judgement on this. Where would you like us to meet so we can discuss this?_

Keith had to smile.

_[Keith] Oh? So you don’t mind me seeing you this time?_

_[Wor] This is inevitable._

_[Keith] True. All right, I’ll send you the address. There’s an empty building there. It’s near enough. Meet me there at eight._

And, just like that, things were set into motion.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning:  
> -Murder

The day went by slowly. Keith spent most of his time lost in his thoughts, planning, trying to foresee what could go wrong and how to react when it happened. As if sensing his anxiety, Katarzyna was especially fussy. She refused to sleep for more than fifteen minutes at a time, always whimpering. Keith kept her in his arms, walking back and forth the length of the flat while rocking her gently. Minutes crawled by. The telly couldn’t keep his attention nor could his computer. Over the past days, he’d compiled a document on tips to better raise a child, and the daunting number of pages made him feel inadequate to the task. They’d had Katarzyna for over a week and Keith hardly sensed it was getting easier. If anything, every day brought its new challenges, as if Katarzyna couldn’t wait to surprise them.

It wasn’t all bad, Keith had to admit. There was something profoundly rewarding in caring for such a defenseless being. Katarzyna couldn’t do anything for herself. She was entirely dependent on the adults around her to be fed, clothed, changed, and cared for. It was demanding and terrifying, yet Keith felt satisfaction when he picked her up and she stopped crying. He felt gratified when she laid her tiny head on his shoulder and fell asleep there. He liked caring for someone else, liked knowing what he did helped another human being.

He was in love silly with a child not even his own. Lance was the same. Allura had joked that they were adorable to watch fuss around Katarzyna. Keith kind of agreed.

“I have to go out tonight,” Keith said off-headedly when Fala arrived from work. “You don’t mind watching over Katarzyna for me?”

She smiled brightly. “Not at all!” She picked Katarzyna from her bassinet and spoke to her in that annoyingly baby voice. “You don’t mind spending time with Auntie Fala, don’t you, baby? Nooo, you don’t!” She giggled and grinned at Keith. “Don’t worry your pretty head, Keith, I’ll look after her as if she were my own!”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Where are you going, if Lance asks?”

“Meeting Wor.”

“Oh! The mysterious boyfriend!”

Keith’s eyes widened. “The mysterious _what_?!”

“Well, from what I’ve gathered, he was one of your clients and bought your contract so you’re exclusive to him now. That makes him like your boyfriend, doesn’t it?”

“No! That’s not like that at all!”

“No? And why is Lance so set against him then?”

“I don’t know,” Keith lied. He wasn’t about to reveal that Wor wasn’t even human. “He’s just overprotective.”

Fala sat on the couch after putting Katarzyna back in her bassinet. She rested her chin in her hand as she gazed at Keith. “So, is Lance your boyfriend?”

“Of course not. We’re friends, he’s like my older brother.”

“But you…” She wiggled her eyebrows emphatically. “You know.”

“Yes, we sleep together. What does it matter? Do you have a crush on him?”

“Maybe I have a crush on _you_!”

Keith’s face grew hot. Impossible—no girl had ever had a crush on him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ohh, you’re blushing, that’s so cute! Don’t worry, Keith, I don’t have a crush on you. And I don’t have a crush on Lance either. I was just curious. I’m already with someone anyway.”

“Really?” Keith quirked an eyebrow. “Who? Allura?”

Fala burst into laughter. “No! No! Pidge.”

Keith couldn’t believe his ears—seriously? Pidge and Fala were together? He’d never expected that someone like Pidge could fall in love. She seemed like the type of girl who loved her computer too much to spare any feeling for another human being. Or another _living_ being. Apparently, aliens were far better than humans.

“I thought you liked Lotor.”

Fala shrugged. “Lotor’s handsome and charming and gallant. He’s infatuated with Allura however. He treats me like an afterthought. Pidge, on the other hand, is kind and funny and warm and intelligent. She’s gentle and generous and oh, so incredulously talented in bed! She’s very good at—”

“I’ll stop you right there! I really don’t want to know more!”

“Aww, you’re very shy for someone who used to be a prostitute.”

“That’s not the same thing at all. Being a prostitute didn’t make me curious about other people’s private life.” He huffed. “I guess I’m glad for Pidge, though. She’s a good person. I’m… happy if you’re happy together.”

“Aww, you’re adorable!” Fala jumped to her feet and came to him to pinch his cheeks. “You’re all red in the face!” Her smile was sincere when she said: “But thank you. It means a lot to me. Allura and I probably don’t say often enough how grateful we are to Lance and you.”

Keith shook his head, taking a step back. “Don’t sweat it. To be honest, it’s nice having two extra pairs of hands to deal with Katarzyna.”

“She’s such a sweetie,” Fala said, looking fondly at the sleeping baby. “With a daddy like Lance, it’s not surprising. He’s such a sweetie himself.”

Keith smiled slightly. “That’s true.”

Which was why Keith had to protect him at all cost. He didn’t know what he’d do should something happen to his friend.

Seven thirty finally rolled by. Lance still wasn’t back from whatever errand he had to run for his uncle, so Keith texted him, telling him he’d be gone for a while to see Wor. Lance’s answer came as a winking smiley face.

The sky was overcast with thick grey clouds that promised another shower of snowflakes. The air was damp, thankfully not too frigid. Keith nonetheless huddled in his coat, shivering at what was to come. He was planning murder. He’d killed a few people in the past—most of them bastards who’d attacked first. He’d just never _plotted_ to actively kill someone. It seemed monstrous, made even more so because his hand was forced. He was persuaded that, should Uncle Pedro live, Lance would pay the price one day or another. Keith couldn’t afford to be squeamish now, not with his friend’s life on the line.

The snow crunched beneath his boots as he made his way towards Uncle Pedro’s residence. Despite all his money, the man was wise enough to live simply, as the owner of a mildly prosperous restaurant would. Contrary to most of the inhabitants of low town, he owned a real house in one of the less rundown neighbourhoods. Here lived the few successful people—a few old doctors, lawyers, owners of business. There weren’t that many opportunities to legally make enough money to buy a house, so it meant the neighbourhood was very quiet. A lot of the houses had been abandoned over the years, left to rot where they stood. There used to be a city watch, long before Keith was born, that would patrol the area to keep out squatters. Nowadays, nobody had any money for that kind of thing. House owners who wished to keep their domicile safe hired thugs, just like Uncle Pedro did. The unused buildings were placarded and boarded up tight to deny access to hobos. More than a few did manage to worm their way inside, so it wasn’t surprising to see some of them mingling amongst the nice houses.

Keith arrived first. He’d chosen one of the abandoned houses as a rendezvous point. He didn’t want to be seen by too many people. Here, if someone saw him, it would be a squatter who wouldn’t give a damn about him. He leaned against the wall, tugged his hat lower on his head and the collar of his jacket higher around his throat, and shoved his hands into his pockets to wait. Down the street, a little to the left, he had a good view of Uncle Pedro’s dwelling. A small, two-story house, Keith had been here often enough in the past. He’d been awed by the simple building when he’d first seen it as a young adult fresh out of the streets. Now, it was just another house, not that nice. It would be big enough to be home to four adults and a kid, though. Would it be cheaper to buy one rather than to rent a larger flat? Between four people, surely, they could afford to pay rent on a bigger place.

“Keith.”

He jumped, whirling on his heels, and came face to face with Wor. A startled gasp left his mouth as he took a step back. The guy hadn’t been there a second earlier.

“Holy shit!” he hissed. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! Don’t do that!”

“I apologize. You seemed lost in your thoughts.”

“All the more reason not to startle me. I could’ve stabbed you!” Keith frowned. “I didn’t even hear or see you approach.”

“It’s normal. I can dematerialise and materialise at will.”

Keith took a second to digest that. He hadn’t even known such a thing was possible outside movies. There clearly was a whole lot he didn’t know about Wor or about the whole universe as it stood.

It was kind of weird, standing there beside Wor in the snow. They’d never seen each other outside the hotel room. Wor, face notwithstanding, didn’t look that odd. He was wearing clothes like any ordinary human being accompanied by a hat, of all things. His body was vaguely human-shaped, with two arms and two legs.

As if he’d caught Keith looking, he said: “I can hide parts of my body. It makes it easier for me to deal with other species.”

“I see. There’s very little you can’t do, it seems.”

“I cannot have feelings for you, sadly.”

Keith’s face warmed. “T-that’s not what I meant. I was just saying that it’s practical that you can change your body. You’re like the Alteans who can shapeshift.”

“It’s not quite the same thing. I assure you that, if I could shapeshift the way they do, I’d change my appearance to be more pleasing. I simply can hide a few things.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re fine the way you are. Anyway, that’s not why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“No. You are certain you want to go through with this? You seem reluctant.”

Keith gritted his teeth. “I don’t like the thought of having to kill someone. The guy just deserves to die. I’m afraid for my friend’s life.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself. Taking lives doesn’t mean anything to me. It is my pleasure to help you with this.”

Keith frowned. “You’re serious when you say that.”

It was impossible to read anything on Wor’s face. He had no distinctive features, no eyebrows to lower or nose to wrinkle, nothing that would make it possible for Keith to know what was going on through his mind. It was unsettling. It felt as if they were still in the darkened bedroom.

“Yes. From little I know of the situation, you fear your friend might be in danger. You don’t seem to understand that you could also be in danger. You are part of this operation too, aren’t you?”

“Hm. I never thought about it like that. I’m not like Lance though, I can defend myself.”

“Perhaps. I’d rather not have to find out the hard way.”

“You’d be heartbroken if I died?” Keith asked, teasing.

“If I had a heart to be broken, yes. You stir all kind of strange emotions inside of me, darling, things I believed to have dried out a long time ago. Albeit not always pleasant, it is a nice improvement from the nothingness.”

“You can’t say things like that…!”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“Not to me.”

“To me, it is!” Keith looked away, unsettled. “You probably can’t be embarrassed anyway.”

Wor paused, as if giving this statement some thought. “To be honest, I’m not quite certain. I’ve never had to be embarrassed about anything before.”

“Well, you really are lucky then.” He shook his head. “So, let’s get this over with. It’s too damp to be standing there doing nothing.”

Wor agreed and Keith explained the plan he’d come up with. Nothing fancy, nothing extraneous, just straight to the point. As he talked, a sense of alienation overcame him. He felt oddly detached, like he wasn’t planning to murder someone. He already felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the readiness to face whatever happened.

Once they were both in agreement, Keith slowly made his way towards Uncle Pedro’s house. The falling snow was a blessing: it muffled the sound of his footsteps. He wasn’t trying to be stealthy, he simply didn’t want to advertise his presence too much. He knew there would be one man guarding the front door and another one guarding the backdoor. He kept to the far side of the street, out of line of sight of the man at the back. Wor had done his trick of dematerializing. It was like he’d vanished into thin air. One second, he’d been there, the second, he’d been gone. Keith still felt his presence somehow, a pressure against his senses that was odd. He ignored it in favour of focusing on his own part of the plan. He peeked around the corner of Uncle Pedro’s neighbouring house. The back lawn was empty. The narrow, paved walkway that lead to the door had been shovelled recently, freeing it of snow completely. Uncle Pedro _hated_ the snow so he made sure his employees shovelled it off his property often. Good—no snow on the ground meant no footprints.

If Uncle Pedro had made one mistake in all his career as the head of the Cuban cartel, it was to refuse to change. The thugs who worked for him had been hired years ago. Keith had no doubt that they had remained because they were loyal. It also meant it had given him plenty of time to get used to them, to get the feel of them. He knew, for example, that the guy guarding the backdoor was lazy, a drunkard, and that he suffered from a severe case of arthritis. He complained endlessly about it to anyone willing to listen and Keith hadn’t been spared. The humid air, the cold, it was the perfect recipe for the man’s joints to be hurting like the devil. When this happened, he would shirk his guard duties—he’d spend his shift inside the little heated shed situated beside the house, drinking rum until he was relieved by the next thug. Uncle Pedro had to know. This guy had been with him since the beginning however so he’d never wanted to fire him.

And this would be his downfall. After making sure the guy was indeed inside the shed, Keith crossed the lawn and eased the door open. The hinges didn’t even squeak. He found himself in the kitchen. During daytime, there was a cook preparing the household’s meals. At this time of night, the cook had gone home, leaving the room dark and smelling of food. Careful not to make any noise, Keith toed off his wet boots—no need to leave a trail behind him. The only downside of this was that he’d have to get out the same way he’d come in if he wanted to retrieve them. He hid them out of sight and padded softly out of the kitchen.

Uncle Pedro liked his privacy so he kept no thugs or bodyguards inside his own home unless there’d been a recent threat to his life. He used to have two huge dogs that would fulfill that duty, but he’d never replaced them after they’d died of old age. Pets weren’t easy to come by and were a hassle to train properly. Another good thing in Keith’s favour. Seriously, this was almost too easy. Uncle Pedro had grown complacent over the years, secure in his certainty that nobody would dare hurt him. It was as if he didn’t remember the assassination attempts he’d survived.

Whenever he met with people of his inner circle, he’d do so in his office on the second floor. Keith stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening intently at the silent house. There was no sound. Quickly, he made his way up the staircase that barely creaked beneath his weight. On the landing, he paused again, cocking an ear. Still nothing. On both sides of the corridors were doors. One used to lead to Panchito’s childhood bedroom. It was closed now. Keith remembered how barren the room had been, how poorly it had reflected its occupant’s bright personality. Uncle Pedro hadn’t liked childish stuff such as posters or plush toys. Hell, the coverlet had been a dark, dull grey, a colour Panchito had hated.

A flare of anger threatened to engulf him. Keith took in a deep breath, knowing he had to keep his head about him. He couldn’t fly into a rage, not while behind enemy lines. Sure, he’d been invited, but it would be awkward to explain why he’d snuck in the backdoor without announcing his presence. When he’d calmed down sufficiently, he padded softly towards the only open door. Situated at the end of the corridor, it lead to Uncle Pedro’s office.

The older man had his back to him when he slipped in. Keith closed the door behind himself, the click of it latching turning Uncle Pedro’s attention.

Uncle Pedro was a man in his late sixties. Not very tall, he was quite squat with a square face and a thick mustache. His hair was white and cropped close to his skull. Like Lance, he had weasel-like features. His squinting eyes—he refused to wear glasses—made him look suspicious of everything happening around him. He sat behind his large desk, a sort of antique out of some period drama. On the desk were a laptop, knickknacks, and a box of cigars. One such cigars had been lit and it lay discarded in the ceramic ashtray. The whole room smelled of smoke and the hard liquor Uncle Pedro liked to drink. A glass of Cuban rum was well within his reach, its amber liquid reflecting the light.

“Ah, there you are,” Uncle Pedro said, totally unflappable. “Why hasn’t Roberto announced you?”

Keith shrugged. “He wasn’t at his post. I didn’t want to keep you waiting so I came up by myself.”

The older man waved a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t matter. I have a job for you.” He turned to glance at the screen of his computer. “We have a recalcitrant—”

“Did you kill Panchito?”

Slowly, Uncle Pedro’s washed out blue eyes left the screen to settle on him. There was a calculating look in them. He sat back easily, his leather chair creaking. He steepled his fingers beneath his clean-shaven chin as he gave Keith an onceover.

“What makes you think that?”

“You learned of the Arts. You wanted it for yourself because it was making money so your orchestrated the theft. Knowing you, you were pissed that Lance and Panchito didn’t include you. You’ve always disliked Panchito, but you wouldn’t have killed him without provocation. You don’t do that to family. He banding with Lance about the Arts gave you the perfect excuse.”

“Do you hear yourself, boy? Does that make sense in that empty head of yours?”

“It does. I’ve looked for the Arts addicts afterwards. Curiously, they were all within your territory. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

“You’re overstepping yourself, rent boy. I expect an apology right this instant. I won’t be accused by the likes of you.”

“Did you kill Panchito?” Keith demanded.

Uncle Pedro got to his feet, face colouring. “What did I just say?! Apologize right now or your friendship with Lance won’t save you!”

“Did you kill Panchito?”

He gritted his teeth. “You’re even denser than I expected. How about I belt you until you learn your place?”

Uncle Pedro’s hands reached down.

Keith was over the desk and slamming into him before he had time to react. They collapsed in a tangle on the carpeted floor as the laptop went flying. Keith grabbed the older man’s wrist, keeping it away from his belt where he kept his gun. Uncle Pedro was so stunned he couldn’t move, eyes wide and panting harshly.

Keith, knee firmly planted on the man’s chest, leaned in until their noses nearly touched. “Did you kill Panchito?” he asked softly, enunciating each word carefully.

“S-shit! Shit, you crazy slut! Get off me! I’ll have your head for this! I swear Panchito’s death will be the least of your worries after I’ve sold you to some slave market like you deserve!”

Keith grinded his knee harder, making the other gasp. “I won’t ask again, _uncle_.”

Uncle Pedro was getting purple in the face with rage. “Yes, yes! I got this good for nothing son of mine executed! He deserved it for being such a bloody little traitor! He betrayed me!” He grinned. “Lance’s next, bitch. I think I’ll keep you around just long enough for you to see him die, then I’ll sell you off to some sex-depraved alien on the slave market! That’ll teach you all to go behind my back!”

Although he’d suspected it, hearing the truth hurt Keith. Uncle Pedro had really gotten Panchito killed. The man had given the order that his own son be executed. How sick was that? He felt too detached for rage or despair right now. He looked down coolly at the man pinned beneath him, this pathetic old geezer who’d ruled the Álvarez family with an iron fist for years. He’d been the one dragging Lance, Marco, and Luis into the drug business. He’d paid for Keith’s for license as a class-three prostitute, forcing him to keep whoring himself until he’d reimbursed it all. He’d forced Veronica, Lance’s sister, to become a nurse just so he’d have a medical care professional close at hand. He’d made his own sister’s life a living hell by dragging her children into that dangerous lifestyle. He’d beaten them, belted them, and humiliated them in front of his thugs, and excused it by saying it was to teach them humility. He’d made his only son miserable, treating him like shit, never once appreciating the extremes to which Panchito had been ready to go to please him. Uncle Pedro had been their lord and absolute master. His word had been law. He’d killed his own son. He’d admitted to want to kill Lance.

Keith got up, grabbed Uncle Pedro by the front of his shirt, and hauled him to his feet too. He had to refrain himself from punching him—he had to stick to the plan if he didn’t want to be blamed for what was to come. Tugging his sleeve down his hand so as not to leave any prints, he carefully plucked the gun from the other man’s belt. Uncle Pedro looked mildly stunned and confused by this, especially when Keith took a step backward and gave no indication that he’d use the gun.

He knew Wor had materialized behind him when Uncle Pedro’s eyes went huge. The man gaped and threw himself back until his spine was pressed against the far wall. His body shook all over.

Taking his time, Keith righted everything on the desk. He couldn’t say he was enjoying the terror in Uncle Pedro’s face. It was however damn good to see him knocked off his pedestal.

“You understand I can’t let this go,” Keith said once the desk was back in order. “You just admitted you want to have Lance killed and, if you remember well, you told me at the beginning of our acquaintance that I _had_ to protect him.”

“W-w-what… w-what is that?” Uncle Pedro pointed at Wor.

“ _That_? It’s not nice. Wor’s a good friend of mine. He’s from planet Kaax'oits and the K’x-oitian have some very, very interesting abilities. He’s going to tell you to do something, and you’ll do it.”

“I-I won’t do anything that thing tells me to do!”

“You won’t have any choice. You’ll feel compelled to do it.” Keith glanced at Wor. “I leave him to you.”

The sound that left Uncle Pedro’s mouth as Wor approached could only be called a squeak. He pushed himself against the wall harder, as if hoping it would open to swallow him up. Keith watched, fascinated and mildly horrified, as one of the few men he’d been terrified of turned into a blubbering mess.

“You feel terrible for having your son killed,” Wor said, voice lilting and soft. “You can’t live with yourself.” Uncle Pedro’s body went slack, as if in repose. “You decide it’s best if you take your own life. You leave a note for your people to find, explaining why you’re doing it.” He waved towards the gun Keith had placed on the desk. “A gunshot to the head should do the trick.”

As if he were a puppet whose strings were being pulled, Uncle Pedro threw himself at the desk. He rummaged through the drawers and pulled out an old-fashioned pen and paper. On the pad, he scribbled messily. Keith felt like he was watching some sort of movie unfurling. Uncle Pedro’s hand moved jerkily, but the handwriting was distinctively his own. He listed the reasons why he was doing this in details, covering two pages easily. The tone was dry, matter of fact, hinting at no apology at all. Whether this was because he wasn’t sorry or because Wor hadn’t put it in his mind to be sorry, Keith didn’t know. When he was done, Uncle Pedro’s hand went to the gun.

“Stop,” Wor said. “Wait until we are gone. Once we are out of the house, you will let everybody who knew you had summoned Keith know that he didn’t show up. In fifteen minutes, you shall blow your brains out.”

Uncle Pedro sat on his chair, eyes slightly unfocused as if he were lost in his thoughts. The gun remained in front of him, well within reach. This was it.

Keith stepped back until he could look at the room as a whole. He couldn’t leave any trace that he’d been here. Thankfully for him, the glass of rum hadn’t been upended when he’d jumped across the desk. It still stood there, untouched, doomed to forever remain half full. Keith gave one hard, last look at Uncle Pedro. Was he feeling sorry for the older man? Perhaps just a bit. Would that stop him? No. Panchito’s murder demanded avenging and Lance had to be protected at all cost.

He felt weak at the thought that he could have lost Lance. If he hadn’t suspected something, if he hadn’t borrowed Hunk’s tracker, if he hadn’t come up with this plan, Lance would have died. He’d have been killed like a rabid, unwanted dog by his uncle. Keith couldn’t forgive that. They had come so close to disaster that it left him breathless.

Wor’s gentle touch to his shoulder woke him from his daze. He had to keep his wits about until he was out of here. He nodded to show that he was all right. With one last glance at Uncle Pedro, Keith tiptoed out of the room. The house was still as silent as before around him. Uncle Pedro’s wife didn’t live with him—she owned a flat a few streets from here. Apparently, it had been too much pressure living that close to the cartel. Keith was glad of it—this would have been difficult to pull through if the woman had been here.

He took a long moment standing in the kitchen, straining his ears. From the angle of the window, he couldn’t see towards the shack so he had no way of knowing if the thug was still warming himself up there. He didn’t hear any sound coming from the porch, no cough or shuffling of feet. He put his boots back on—they’d left a wet spot on the welcome carpet, but that couldn’t be helped. Gingerly, he opened the door a crack. Nothing. With his heart in his throat, he stepped out. The guy wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Keith closed the door and bolted.

He was a full block away when he stopped to catch his breath. The cold air hurt his lungs as he panted. His heart beat a fast, uncomfortable rhythm. He leaned against the wall of some old building, tilting his head back towards the sky. There was nothing to see there except grey clouds. The stars sadly weren’t visible.

“Will it work?” Keith asked once he sensed Wor’s presence beside him.

“Yes. The man should shoot himself in nine minutes. Don’t worry, everything went fine.”

Keith could hardly believe it. It seemed impossible. He replayed the scene in his mind, how Wor had merely told Uncle Pedro what to do and the man had jumped to do his bidding, no questions asked. If that truly worked, there would be nothing linking Keith to the scene. He’d have gotten away with murder. He just killed two birds with one stone: he’d gotten rid of a dangerous man and he’d exposed him as the murderer he was. He spared a thought for Lance—Uncle Pedro had confessed in the letter wanting to have him killed. How would he react to that? Knowing Lance, he’d be more devastated by the news that his uncle had died and had murdered Panchito than by the fact he’d been the next target.

“Are you all right?” Wor asked.

“I’m fine. It went better than I expected.”

“It’s too bad you didn’t allow me to kill this man. I disliked the way he talked to you.”

Keith had to laugh at this. “He talked that way about everybody. It didn’t offend me.” He sighed. “Come on, we can’t stay here. I don’t want to be anywhere near this neighbourhood when they find his body. The gunshot will surely attract his guards’ attention.”

He started walking down the street, away from Uncle Pedro’s house. Wor followed him without complaint. He let the silence linger. It helped him unwind a little. The night was peaceful, the sounds muffled by the snow covering the ground. The white blanket covered the detritus and the old buildings nicely, hiding their ugliness. For one of the rare times in his life, Keith thought low town looked pretty. Its sharp edges were blunted, its darkness lightened somewhat. Oh, it still smelled bad and there were still hobos sleeping behind trashcans, but looking at the unmarked snow made it possible for him to forget about all that.

“You know,” he said as a thought struck him, “it’s kind of romantic.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to call them back. He blushed, feeling utterly stupid.

Wor looked at him with that unblinking eye, his face impossible to read. “I have yet to grasp the full meaning of romanticism.”

“Uh. It’s… it’s like…” Keith floundered. “You know, I don’t know for sure either?”

“What is something romantic, then?”

“Do we really have to talk about this here? Let’s go somewhere else. Obviously I cannot go home yet and I have to show myself somewhere public.” Keith grabbed Wor’s arm and pulled him down the road. “I know a place. Nice hot chocolate.”

“Keith, I’m not sure it is wise for us to be seen together.”

“Why not? I doubt very much someone will suspect we just left the scene of a mur—suicide.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh. Look, nobody here will care about what you look like, okay? People in low town are used to aliens, much more than the snobbish up towners. You have far more chances of getting stabbed or robbed than being ridiculed because of your appearance, believe me.”

“Charming.”

Keith smiled. “I know, right? Now come on, stop dragging your feet.”

Wor allowed himself to be towed. Keith had to marvel at his stoicism—here he was being dragged by the arm like an idiot and not once did he complain about it. He really was a great guy. To be honest, Keith was glad of his presence. A tiny part of himself was still shaky and hadn’t relished the thought of spending a few hours at a café up until it was safe to go home. He’d wanted to be seen publicly away from Uncle Pedro’s house just in case someone wondered about his whereabouts at that time. He’d told Lance he was with Wor so being seen with him would reinforce his story. It hadn’t been quite a lie—they were together, they just weren’t doing what Lance probably thought they were doing.

The diner Keith dragged Wor too was the same he’d visited with James. People knew him there and they could be trusted to take his side if awkward questions rose. He hoped that the fact that the owners were also aliens would put Wor more at ease. The poor guy’s body language translated into evident unease. He went along with it despite everything. Seeing him acting like this, it was difficult to reconcile the fact that he came from a planet of people who enjoyed torturing their slaves and were into some nasty shit. Keith had to wonder if his true nature was being tempered by the strange emotions that stirred in his chest, as he’d said earlier.

“So you humans like to come to places like this to eat?” Wor asked once they were seated a booth, the one most out of sight.

Keith shrugged as he removed his jacket. “It depends on the human. Ask a rich bloke from upper town and he’d sneer at the place. For me, it’s just fine. The food’s nice and the price’s reasonable.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Do the K’x-oitians even eat?”

“We don’t have to eat. Our bodies are self-sufficient. We do eat for pleasure, though.”

“What do you eat?”

“Our slaves when they are no longer of use. I doubt this is an appropriate discussion topic for the table.”

Keith wrinkled his nose. “Meh, I suppose it’s no worse than us eating animal meat.”

The waitress who came to take their order barely glanced at Wor. She acted as if she’d seen thousands of his kind in her life, not batting an eye. Keith could tell this relieved Wor—his body relaxed minutely. This really bothered him. It was strange, as if he wished he could mingle more easily with the humans and other aliens. Keith made a mental note to ask about it later.

“So, about romanticism,” Wor said once the waitress had departed.

Keith groaned. “You ask the weirdest questions! I don’t know much about it myself so it’s hard to explain. Being romantic is like… when you’re with your partner and you hold hands or do something nice for them. Like… giving them flowers.”

“Ah, yes. That’s what I read. That’s why I sent you flowers. Apparently, it also conveys wishes for a fast recovery.”

“O-oh. You were trying to be romantic?”

“I mostly wished you to know I was thinking of you.”

Oh, Keith wasn’t certain he could go on with this conversation much longer. It was bad enough that the barrier language made it difficult for Wor to understand, it didn’t help that he had no concept of embarrassment or of positive emotions. Keith didn’t know what Wor thought he felt for him.

Thankfully, the waitress arrived just in time to save him from answering. She put his big mug of hot cholate in front of him and winked conspiratorially, as if he were having a secret date. He wanted to disappear on the spot. Was this how Shiro had felt when Keith had clumsily confessed over the phone? Was it why he hadn’t called back, hadn’t given him any sign of life? Keith didn’t know, hoped this wasn’t the case.

“You’re very nice,” Keith mumbled.

“It’s because you deserve it, darling. I assure you I wouldn’t be nice otherwise.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of bloke who’d be mean just for the fun of it.”

“I simply don’t see the point in senseless violence or meanness. I was kind to you during our first encounter because I had no reason to be mean to someone I didn’t know. Since then, I’ve been nice to you because I know you deserve it.”

“So you don’t regret having chosen me the first time?”

“No. Why, did you think I would?”

Keith shrugged. “I don’t know? I mean, the first time, I was kind of… I don’t know, not up to my own standards. I wasn’t able to do anything.”

Wor laughed, the sound as odd as the first time Keith had heard it. “You were overwhelmed. I can understand it. I knew you’d only been with humans. You fared much better than I had expected—I feared you’d simply leave. As it turned out, choosing you was one of the best decisions I took recently. You’ve given me much more pleasure than anyone not of my species has ever had.”

“Right back at you.”

He took a sip of his hot chocolate now that it had cooled a little. The sugary taste felt like heaven on his tongue. He closed his eyes, savouring it. The cup warmed his cold hands as the liquid warmed his insides. For a moment, he forgot about everything else to focus on the sweet warmth.

“That face you pulled was adorable.”

Keith nearly choked on the hot chocolate. He opened his eyes, blushing. “S-shit!”

“I’m sorry. You were just very adorable. Is that bad human etiquette to compliment someone on how pretty they look when they’re drinking?”

“Only an alien would find it cute! Jeez! Unless you meant I look pretty with something in my mouth? I’ve heard that one hundreds of times.”

Wor gazed at him for a moment. “I suppose that you do. It doesn’t seem like a very nice compliment. It sounds… crass.”

“It’s crass. Ordinary people wouldn’t thank you if you say that to them. I don’t mind because I’m used to this kind of stuff. That’s the kind of stuff you get complimented on when you’re in my line of work.”

“So, if I follow your reasoning, it’s considered acceptable to be crass to prostitutes?”

Keith took a sip of his beverage. “Yes. Mind, not all clients are like that. There are some of them who think that, because they pay, they’re entitled to do whatever they want. Some clients are angry or frustrated or ashamed of their needs so they take it out on the whore they’re bedding. Some clients are downright violent because they get off on violence too. That’s why some genius came up with the idea of sex dolls.”

“I’ve heard about those. What are they?”

“They’re basically human-sized dolls that mimic feelings. I heard fucking them is like fucking a real human being. They just don’t get tired or sad or whatever. If you break them, they can be easily fixed.”

“So they’re basically a human body without a mind attached to it. They have no feelings.”

Keith shrugged. “Yeah.” At Wor’s puzzled silence, he said: “A lot of humans _don’t_ want feelings, Wor. Feelings make things complicated and messy. It gets in the way of what the body wants. If you fuck a doll, you won’t get feelings for it. You’ll be bodily satisfied. Or at least that’s how I heard it explained.”

“That’s very odd. I suppose I understand a bit what you mean. Humans who sleep together tend to get attached. A lot of clients got attached to you.”

“Yes, humans tend to get attached to their bedmates. That’s why having a friend with benefits can be a tricky thing. It’s usually a prelude to falling in love with them. And I wouldn’t go as far as saying that a lot of clients got attached to me, at least not in the way you imply. They just liked fucking me.”

“Why do you use the word _fuck_?”

Keith frowned at the question. “Because that’s what it is? Fucking? There’re tons of ways to refer to that. I can use another one if you prefer.”

“No, no. So what is the difference between fucking and making love?”

“Urgh, that’s tricky. It depends on the person you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you.”

“I’m the worst person to explain the difference! All right, as I see it, fucking is when you do it for fun, like when you do it with anybody. When you make love, it’s more… it’s like you do it with the person you love.” Keith blushed. “I-I think. To my knowledge, there’s no set definition of either expression.”

Keith heard giggling. When he looked up, he saw that a couple sitting to the booth nearest theirs was listening in to their conversation. He scowled at them, embarrassed. He didn’t like Wor’s questions, didn’t like what they stirred inside him. They made him think of Shiro and how, or if, it would be different to sleep with him. He’d be a liar if he said it had never crossed his mind to wonder about that. Hell, a lot of times, Keith had imagined Shiro instead of the client he was with just to make the encounter more pleasant.

“I really don’t understand the difference,” Wor admitted.

“You’ve never felt anything for any of your bedmates?”

“No. Unless you count satisfaction, which you don’t.”

“Hm. Well, keep working on your feelings, Wor. One day you might understand and you’ll be able to explain it to me.”

“Not if you get with that man you love.”

Keith said nothing, looking down into the murky depths of his half-empty cup. “That doesn’t sound likely to happen. I haven’t heard from him for weeks.”

“Oh. So that man isn’t the one you live with, Lance I believe his name was?”

“No, no! Lance’s like my brother! No, the guy’s name Shiro. He’s a policeman. He lives in upper town.”

Wor’s demeanour shifted somewhat. “Takashi Shirogane, isn’t it?”

Keith’s eyes widened. “Y-yes! Do you know him?”

“I’ve seen him a few times when I met with Prince Lotor. Your friend seems to be a sort of bodyguard to him.”

“What? No, last I heard, Shiro was still a policeman. He works for the DEA. He’s under Commander Sendak’s command.”

A shrug. “Prince Lotor is recruiting many people to his side. He doesn’t feel safe anymore on his own so it wouldn’t be farfetched to believe he hired your friend.”

Keith leaned back, dumbfounded. “Uh, that makes sense. He never liked Sendak. Maybe he prefers to side with Lotor.” He smiled. “How was Shiro?”

“Fine, I believe. He seems very… remote and aloof.”

“Yeah, it happens sometimes. He’s very nice. I’m glad to hear he’s all right.”

“I could tell him to contact you if you wish. I can tell his absence bothers you a lot.”

“Please, don’t! I don’t want him to feel forced to do anything! If he prefers us to go our different ways, then that’s it, I guess.”

“This doesn’t seem like you to give up so readily.”

“I’m not giving up. I can’t force him to love me if he doesn’t want to.”

“Darling, he really is an idiot if he doesn’t love you back.”

Keith had to smile slightly—there was no sting to the word so he knew Wor hadn’t meant it as an offense towards Shiro. “Maybe I’m simply not to his taste.”

“An idiot, and a blind one at that.” A pause. “Keith, would it be too forward of me to ask you if you’d like to go back to the hotel with me?”

Keith got to his feet. “I thought you’d never ask.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> -Past child abuse  
> -Past rape/non-con

When Keith returned home early the next morning, he was greeted with a sight that broke his heart: Lance was seated on the couch, his eyes red, his cheeks wet, his face blotchy. Clearly he’d learned of what had happened with Uncle Pedro.

Keith knew he had to give the performance of his life. He couldn’t let Lance suspect anything, couldn’t allow him to have an inch of suspicion that Keith knew what had happened and was responsible for it.

Without taking the time to remove his boots and his jacket, he went to his friend, sat on the couch with him, and pulled him to him. Lance went easily, boneless with exhaustion and sadness. He rested his head on Keith’s chest, not talking for the moment. Keith combed his fingers through the messy brown locks.

It took a while before Lance finally managed to explain what had happened. Haltingly, he recounted how he’d received a call from Marco last night telling him their uncle had committed suicide by shooting himself with a pistol in his home office. He’d left a suicide note apologizing. There, the story got confused because Lance started crying again, burying his face into Keith’s jacket while his body shook with great sobs. Keith had no idea what to do or what to say. He’d never seen his friend in such a state. He’d never guessed Lance would be this affected by his uncle’s death. Through hiccups, Lance told him what had been in the letter, how Uncle Pedro was responsible for Panchito’s death and how he’d planned to have Lance murdered for hiding the Arts from him.

Keith felt like an ass knowing it was half his fault Lance was in such a state. He did his best to pretend sadness and anger, knowing Lance couldn’t see through his feeble mask simply because he was so upset. They didn’t talk for a while. Eventually, Lance fell into a light sleep, exhausted after spending most of the night crying. Keith didn’t understand his sadness: he’d known of what Uncle Pedro had done and yet he still mourned him? Shouldn’t he be, if not happy, at least relieved that his own life had been spared? Lance didn’t think like that—he always thought of others before thinking of himself.

He let Lance sleep, moving him gently until his head laid on his lap for more comfort. It was getting hot with his jacket. He made no move to remove it, not wanting to disturb his sleeping friend. Now that he had time to think, Keith realised he’d been tensed ever since he’d had gotten Uncle Pedro killed. He hadn’t been able to relax at all. It still didn’t sit well him that a man had died on his word. He’d just had to ask and Wor had gotten rid of Uncle Pedro, no questions asked. It didn’t make him feel powerful, it made him feel awful. He didn’t want to have that kind of power over other people. He wasn’t a murderer. Yet there was no denying the thin thread of relief encircling his feeling of guilt. No matter what happened now, at least Lance would be safe. They’d always feared the other cartels, they’d never thought to look over their shoulder at their own people. Anybody from their own side could have walked to Lance to easily stab him in the back. He never would have seen it coming. Keith supposed that either Marco or Luis would take over after their uncle. Most likely Marco because Luis had been trying to distance himself from the cartel. Marco was the perfect candidate: he had no wife, no children to protect. He had always been a good lieutenant. He was also trustworthy. Keith knew he’d never put any of his sibling in danger. He’d never do something as cheap as have one of them assassinated.

Both Allura and Fala got up to get to work. They looked surprised to see Lance sleeping on the couch, looking so wretched. Keith motioned at them to be quiet. He was oddly touched by the looks of concern on the women’s faces. They looked genuinely worried about Lance’s wellbeing.

Not long after, Lance woke up. He sat up groggily, face blotchy and hair mussed. His eyes were red as if he’d spent the whole evening smoking dope.

“You okay?” Keith asked softly. He combed his fingers through Lance’s messy locks, pushing them into some kind of order. “Go to bed. I’ll take care of things today.”

Lance leaned into the touch before shaking his head. “No. I wanna do it. I need the distraction. Marco wants to talk anyway.”

“Okay. Is he going to take over?”

“I don’t know. Most likely.” Lance robbed his face. “He’ll call a family meeting in three days so we can discuss the takeover.”

“I see. Is your mom all right? Do you want me to go see her?”

“Yeah, she’d appreciate a visit, I think.” He got up. “I better get going.”

There was something odd in Lance’s demeanour, in his brisk manners.

Keith grabbed his wrist. “What’s wrong?”

Lance didn’t look at him when he said: “You were supposed to meet with him last night.”

Keith’s heart jumped into his throat. He forced his features to remain blank. “Yes, but I got a call from Wor. I told Uncle Pedro I couldn’t go.”

“I know. It’s just… I kept thinking that maybe, if you’d gone, he wouldn’t have done that.”

“Oh, Lance, you don’t know that. I suppose his mind was already made up whether I went to him or not. It would have delayed the inevitable.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Lance offered a tiny, sheepish smile. “Sorry, baby bro. I don’t want to sound like I’m accusing you of anything. It’s just… so sudden. Panchito, and now Uncle Pedro…”

Keith hesitated. “You said it was your uncle’s fault that Panchito died.”

“That’s what he wrote in his suicide note. I can’t say I’m that surprised. Uncle Pedro never liked him.” Lance sighed. “To be honest, I should’ve seen it coming. We all knew he’d be pissed when he found out about the Arts. Uncle Pedro doesn’t deal well with this kind of stuff. I just didn’t expect him to see this as a betrayal.”

“Are you angry at him?”

“I don’t know. He must’ve had remorse over it if he killed himself. It’s just too fresh, I don’t know how I feel.”

“I’m just glad he never got to hurt you.”

Lance smiled and hugged him. “You’re too nice, Keith. Thanks. I’m sorry I cried all over you.” He patted Keith’s chest. “I got your coat wet.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Lance refused to stay at home to rest or to mourn, so he went to work as he did every day. Keith kind of understood: it was easier to deal with feelings when you had no time to dwell on them. Once the shock had passed, once it had been blunted by time, Lance no doubt would pick it up to observe it and decide what to do with it. He wasn’t the type of man to spend days crying on his bed about things he couldn’t change. Keith appreciated that—it made dealing with him so much easier. He wouldn’t have known what to do with an overly-emotive Lance.

Days crawled by. Routine reasserted itself inexorably. Keith kept an eye on Lance to gauge his level of sadness. He didn’t hid that he was sad, but he didn’t dwell on it either. He’d have occasional bouts of random tears that Keith, Allura, or Fala did their best to deal with. Lance had no qualms about crying in front of the girls. Keith admired him for it: it took a sort of strength to be able to show weakness. He’d never been able to do it himself. The last time he’d actually cried in front of someone was more than ten years ago.

As they had all expected, Marco was made the new head of the Cuban cartel. On the day to day basis, it changed little. He made no big changes. He didn’t hire or fire anyone. He sold Uncle Pedro’s house and bought one for himself with the resulting money. He used his own people as security rather than his uncle’s, perhaps knowing deep in his bones that they had failed him in some way. Lance took over his duties as lieutenant, doubling his workload which made him happy. Luis was allowed to slowly retire. He would be present until they found someone trustworthy to replace him. Keith was offered the position that he refused without hesitation. He didn’t want to be a leader, didn’t want to be in the spotlight. The cartel was about family, anyway.

Lance spent even less time at home than before Uncle Pedro’s death. When he wasn’t busy meeting people and getting acquainted with Marco’s old side of the business, he spent time with Pidge and Hunk at the plant. The Arts distribution had yet to begin anew—they were still rebuilding the equipment that had been stolen. Lance told Keith he’d had to do damage control with some addicts who’d been clamoring for the electronic drug. Apparently, it had been far more popular than they had expected. Marco said that he planned to expand the distribution as soon as production was back on tracks.

With the celebrations for the New Year coming in a month, even Allura and Fala found themselves busier at work. They did extra hours when possible, enjoying the flow of cash that it brought.

So Keith stayed at home with the baby, bored out of his mind. He couldn’t even visit Adam because this was a busy time for him too, what with exams coming and stuff like that. They’d barely been able to exchange a few words.

And still Shiro kept silent. More than once, Keith found himself with his PDA in hand, ready to text without knowing _what_ to text. Their last exchange dated from almost two months ago. The dull ache at Shiro’s silence had become a permanent pain between his ribs. It was physical—he’d sometimes press his hand against his chest in hope of stilling it. He felt awful most of the time just thinking about it. He’d done it, he’d ruined his friendship with Shiro. That thought kept rattling around his brain day in and day out. It kept him awake at night. He’d stare at the ceiling and think _that’s it, I’m never going to see him again_. When this happened, the pressure behind his eyes would become unbearable. His chest would be tight and his throat would be tied in a knot. It didn’t get better with time. It didn’t ease or get easier. It became permanent, like an old injury that refused to heal. It left him exhausted and achy.

Today wouldn’t be better. Keith wished Wor would call him or Lance would ask him to accompany him, anything so he could distract himself. Katarzyna was utterly calm, wiggling her arms and legs in her bassinet, not requiring anything from him. Caring for her had at least become easier, the downside being that it left him too much time to think. He wished he could visit the training hall, but it didn’t seem right to drag her there. He didn’t want to burden Lance’s mother with babysitting either since she was still upset over the death of her brother. This was ridiculous—he didn’t want to be cooped up inside for the rest of his life. They had to find better arrangements, perhaps hire a full-time babysitter—between the four of them, they had the means.

So he sat on the couch and watched a movie, trying to get engrossed into the story rather than engrossed into his problems. When Katarzyna started fussing, he picked her up, glad for the distraction. The flat was a mess—with four busy people and a child living in such close quarters, it was to be expected. He didn’t want to clean up, didn’t want to feel even more like a stay-at-home partner. On the other hand, he should because the three others worked hard while his main job was to get boned once in a while. One could even argue this wasn’t true work since it was so much fun. Keith scowled at the overflowing trashcan in the kitchen. The sink was full of dirty dishes. There were crumbs on the counter and on the table. There was dust in the corners and the floor needed a good washing after Lance had dropped a pot of sauce two days ago. And that wasn’t even counting the mess inside the living room—clothes and knickknacks and empty plates lay everywhere because the bloody laundry basket was full _again_. At least there was no dirty diapers in sight. How had Lance’s mother managed to raise four children while keeping her apartment spotless? This was clearly beyond Keith’s abilities.

With Katarzyna still in his arms, he tried to put some order into the kitchen. The baby, fully awake despite having been rocked for the past fifteen minutes, plucked at his shirt and tugged at one stray strand of hair. She liked tugging at loose curls so Keith had taken to wear his hair in a ponytail just so he didn’t get bald at thirty for all her pulling. Lance had joked that he could do the smart thing and cut off the _mullet_ , but Keith liked it so he said he’d keep it just to annoy Lance. He ignored the assault on his hair to put some of the dirty dishes under the sink. He’d commandeer the first one back from work to help with doing the dishes—they were running out of plates anyway. Tomorrow he’d think of dropping by the laundromat to wash his clothes. And perhaps Lance’s too if he were feeling nice.

Was this what taking care of Shiro as he got too sick and too feeble to do so himself would feel like? Keith stopped what he was doing, contemplating this new idea. It had been his plan to move to upper town to take care of Shiro, yet here he was, complaining about the exact same tasks he’d have performed. He’d still have to do the dishes and clean the flat and do the washing. Would it be different doing it for Shiro than for Lance? Would it be less annoying because Shiro was sick while Lance was simply out at work? Keith’s thoughts soured—it didn’t matter. He’d never take care of Shiro. If Shiro couldn’t talk to him after he’d confessed, what made him think he’d be more amenable to being taken care of? Yet if Keith didn’t do it, who would? Certainly not Adam. Keith didn’t think Shiro had any family left close by. Matt would probably do what he could, but Matt would have his own family one day. Did that mean Shiro would be alone? No, no, this was impossible. Sure, he had plenty enough money to hire someone to help. Would that be sufficient? Keith hated the thought of Shiro being at the mercy of some uncaring nurse in it just for the pay. Yet what could he do? He couldn’t force his presence on Shiro, couldn’t force him to accept his help.

“Urgh, being a grownup sucks,” Keith mumbled at Katarzyna.

She blinked up at him, almost looking as if she understood the words. Her skin had lost its blotchiness over the past few days, leaving it white and smooth. Her eyes were a clear greenish-brown, a bit lighter than her father’s had been. The downy hair on her head was whitish-blond, incredibly soft. She was a bonny baby, he couldn’t deny it. Looking at her looking up at him trustingly eased the pressure on his heart somewhat. He hoped Panchito knew he’d take good care of his daughter.

A flurry of knocks on the front door pulled him out of his reverie. He couldn’t begin to imagine who it could be—nobody visited that knocked first. Unless it was Lotor stopping by in hope of seeing Allura. Keith really hoped it wasn’t the prince—he had no idea how to deal with him or how to refuse him entry in a polite way. Didn’t the guy know how to take a hint? Didn’t he sense that Allura wasn’t interested, that his attentions made her uncomfortable? Most likely, he knew it all too well and, just like everybody born to money and power, he couldn’t take no for an answer.

Keith groaned when the knock came again. He wouldn’t be bullied into his own home. He went to the door and opened it, ready to tell off whoever stood on the threshold.

He blinked in surprise. James Griffin was standing there, looking awfully ill-at-ease in the grimy, badly-lit corridor. When the door opened, he looked startled as if he hadn’t actually expected anyone to be home.

They stared at each other in surprise until Keith felt the cold chill of the unheated corridor. He held Katarzyna closer to him.

“Get in so I can close the door, idiot!” he said.

James obeyed, mostly for the sole reason that he had no idea what else to do. Keith slammed the door shut behind him, the narrow corridor forcing them closer than what was comfortable.

Keith took a step back, frowning. “You were the last person I expected to see on my doorstep. What are you doing here?”

James kept glancing at Katarzyna, a question in his eyes. “W-what’s that?”

“That is a baby. You know, a tiny human being?”

“I-I know! I meant, is it… yours? I thought you didn’t have children.”

“Of course not. It’s Lance’s daughter.”

James’ eyes narrowed. “So she’s your daughter too.”

“No. He had her with a girl. That’s usually how babies are made. Don’t they teach you that kind of stuff at your fancyass school?” He shook his head when the other made to reply. “Never mind. What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, I wanted to talk to you. I got your address from Nadia Rizavi. It was in your medical file.”

Keith scoffed. “Wow, that doctor really sucks at keeping confidentiality, doesn’t she? You could’ve called instead. I’m certain my number’s in my file too.”

“You probably wouldn’t have picked up my call so I thought it would be better to visit you.” He shivered. “You’ve no idea what I had to go through to make it here.”

“Poor baby. Did you get mud on your shoe? Or did you rub shoulders with an uneducated peasant on the skymetro?”

James’ face coloured. “No! It’s just a maze around here! Half the streets don’t even have a name! I had to ask for indications twice!”

“There, there. Don’t worry, you can burn your clothes when you get back home. Tsk, don’t just stand there like an idiot. At least come in if you’re going to stay.”

Keith hadn’t wanted to show the other his apartment up until he’d remembered how messy it was. Just as he had guessed, James’ eloquent expression betrayed his thoughts. He looked around with his nose slightly wrinkled, stepping delicately as if he expected his toes to be bitten by a rat. He took in the mess as well as the cracked paint on the walls, the yellow stains of humidity on the ceiling, the spotted carpet, the tears in the fabric of the couch, the dust rolling on the floor of the kitchen, the mismatched furniture and the mismatched, dirty crockery in the sink. Another person would have been insulted by James’ apparent dismay at the state of the house. Keith just found it mildly funny.

“You can sit. I swear that stain on the couch isn’t piss.”

James wasn’t wearing one of his suits for once. He had a nice jacket on and he looked reluctant to sit. So he did the next best thing: he removed his jacket, laid it on the couch, and sat on it. Apparently, the coat wasn’t as expensive as the ordinary jeans he wore.

“Shit, you’re even worse than I thought.” Keith commented. “So, prepare your speech while I fetch Katarzyna a bottle. You have five minutes to impress me. Afterwards, I kick you out.”

He was half-tempted to hand James the baby just to see his reaction. He didn’t dare put Katarzyna through this—who knew what the idiot would do if she barfed on him. He probably thought babies were dirty, especially the _poor_ ones. He went into the kitchen to fetch one of the bottles he’d prepared earlier. It was one of the tricks they’d learned early on: as soon as Katarzyna got hungry, she’d bawled at the top of her lungs. It didn’t matter how long it took for her bottle to be ready—she’d cried until it was in her mouth. To save their ears, they’d started preparing the drink in advance. Maybe he should let her cry until it drove James to leave.

Bottle and baby in hand, Keith sat on the spare chair beside the couch, tucked Katarzyna into the crook of his arm, and gave her the bottle. James watched him with large, fascinated eyes. It was as if he’d never seen a baby feeding. The look of disgust had been replaced by one Keith couldn’t quite name. He seemed… softer.

“I’d never thought it possible, but you look good like that,” James said.

“If you imagine I’m ever going to be taking care of your spawns, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“Why not? You seem to be good at it.”

Keith’s eyebrows rose. “I’m just feeding her with a bottle. It’s nothing difficult!” He shook his head. “Anyway, you said you wanted to talk to me. What is it?”

James sat stiffly on the couch, pressing his hands together. One lock of brown hair kept falling on his forehead in a manner too perfect to be accidental. Keith gave him a quick onceover: the casual clothing looked good on him, better than the stiff suits. He was handsome and the problem was that he knew it. He was handsome and privileged and it made him insufferable. He was looking so out of place on that ratty couch that Keith started feeling self-conscious about his house. And his own appearance: his hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, his sweat pants, his sweater, it was a far cry from how he dressed when he wanted to impress. Still, James had seen him in a hospital gown so this was a kind of improvement.

“I guess I wanted to apologize about our last encounter.”

“You _guess_?”

James groaned. “Don’t interrupt! Maybe I was a bit impolite to you the last time we talked.”

“Uh, yeah, you were. You acted like the condescending asshole you are. What do you expect of this, James? That I’ll forgive you? There’s nothing to forgive. I’m not offended. I don’t give a damn about how you talk to me.”

“But you should, that’s the thing. You shouldn’t let people walk over you.”

Keith laughed. “Nobody walks over me! If I’d been offended, James, I’d have punched you in the face. To be honest, I’m more offended by your half-assed apology.”

James scowled. “What do you mean, half-assed?! It’s not half-assed if I took time out of my busy day to visit you here, in that rat’s nest you call a home!”

“Do you even hear yourself? You apologize for being an ass while being an ass! How am I supposed to interpret that?” Keith sighed and leaned back. He adjusted his grip on Katarzyna—she might be tiny, she could get heavy. “James, your childish crush on me is mudding your thoughts up. You don’t like me, just think I’m hot. Admit it, you came here thinking you’d get into my pants.”

“I-I… you’re wrong, Keith! I really like you!”

“Please, you really _like_ me? If we were to elope right now and get married, would you have the balls to introduce me to your father? To your mother? No? Your silence’s eloquent enough.”

James pressed his lips into an unhappy line. “You don’t understand. My parents wouldn’t understand. They want what’s best for me. Admittedly, you’re not what’s best. That doesn’t change my feelings.”

“Wow, I’m not what’s best, that’s the kind of compliment every guy wants to hear. You’re a real charmer, aren’t you? Guess what, you’re not what’s best either. I’d rather live on the streets again and starve than marry you.” He got up. “Now, excuse me, I got to put Katarzyna to bed.”

He left James to go into his bedroom. Katarzyna had already fallen asleep on his shoulder, totally unfazed by the conversation going on around her. Keith envied her. He put her down into her crib, petting her hair into place and making sure the blankets were perfectly laid around her.

He stalled—he didn’t want to talk to James. No matter how nonchalant he acted, a part of him still felt angry at being treated like a nothing. Knowing James didn’t do it consciously only irked him more. He had no idea what to say or what to do to make him realise they’d never, ever be together. It was simply impossible. James found him attractive and, like many men, confounded love and lust. He wanted Keith to be his for the simple reason that he’d always had what he wanted. He wanted Keith to be close at hand, to be ready for him whenever he liked, to be pretty and to shut up. Keith had encountered his likes only a few times in his life. Some clients, especially those with money, sometimes got into their head that the whore they paid to sleep with belonged to them. James saw him only as that: a pretty whore his money could buy. It didn’t matter that they shared a history, that they’d known each other in high school. James hadn’t even been nice to him back then, calling him names and siding with the bullies. He’d probably never spared Keith one thought before Keith had sucked his dick after gym class.

This was tiresome. This was tiring. Keith didn’t know how to deal with overly-attached people. Usually, he’d send them on their way. If they were clients, he’d refuse to see them again. More often than not, he’d been able to tell after the first meeting which one of his clients would grow too attached. It was in their behaviour, in their fervent eyes, in the way they talked about possessing him body and soul. It could get downright creepy.

He had to do something about James. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with his footstep dogged by a lovesick man. Maybe he should just punch him and throw him out of his house. Sometimes, using his fists was the only way to get a message through.

He went back into the living room and sat on his chair, wanting to keep his distance least James feel encouraged. James perked up immediately at seeing him.

“So, James, you’re in love with me, aren’t you? That means you’ll love me no matter what I do and no matter what I did, right?” At James’ nod, he continued. “Did you know that I used to live on the streets? When I got kicked out of school, I ran away from the group home where I lived. I had a friend willing to take me in, but I didn’t want to be a charity case so I decided it was preferable to be homeless. I was fourteen at the time. What do you do to survive on the streets when you’re fourteen? You whore yourself out. If you think being a class-three prostitute is disgusting, try being a class-five prostitute. I did drugs, lots of them. In fact, I barely remember anything because I was high most of the time. I’d smoke or sniff whatever I could get my hand on. I’d suck anyone’s dick for a pinch of coke. Every penny I earned I used to buy drugs. I’d fall unconscious behind dumpsters and sleep wherever. At fifteen, my weight had to be at around one hundred pounds and I wasn’t much shorter than I am right now. I was dirty, I smelled bad, I had lice crawling all over me. I lost most of my teeth too, either to drugs or by getting beaten up constantly.

“And you know what? There were still weird fucks ready to pay for me. They didn’t care that I was scrawny and dirty and, for all they knew, riddled with diseases. This lasted for about five years. I nearly died once or twice. I overdosed a few times. My gums were always bleeding and my teeth were loose. My skin was grey and I’d started losing my hair in large clumps. I pissed blood most of the time. I’d let men fuck me then go on with my day without showering. That was five years ago. When I met Lance, his mother forced me into detox. That wasn’t pretty. I pissed and shat and threw up on myself constantly. I sweated and my sweat smelled like death. When I went to the dentist to get my teeth fixed, I had to get a full round of antibiotics before he could do anything. It took months before I gained some kind of weight, months before I could comb my hair without tufts falling out. My kidneys work at about forty percent and I sometimes still piss blood. My body’s all messed up inside. Thankfully, I got a nice exterior to hide it all.” Keith leaned forward, eyes intent on James’. “So, are you still in love with me?”

James gulped, his throat working. He looked away for a moment. His fingers were clenching the fabric of his pants over his knees. He obviously was ill-at-ease about this. He hadn’t known, couldn’t have known, and reality seemed far different from the fantasy he’d build.

“I—”, he began.

“How about I tell you of the times I got raped? Some guys like to hear about this kind of stuff, turns them on. I don’t know if you’re the type—you certainly like pinning me down on the bed and roughing me up when you are in a bad mood. I was nine when some guy at the group home thought it’d be funny to shove my hand down his pants and have me lick his jizz off my fingers afterward. I was pretty grossed out by the taste. He did it again the next week, and the week after. Then he decided to bring a friend to join in the fun—I was good at giving handjobs apparently. When I decided I had enough and bit him, they decided I was too violent to stay with a group home. I was sent to a youth centre. That’s like a prison for kids, you know? Try living with sixteen and seventeen years old hard-asses when you’re eleven. That wasn’t fun. They bullied me so I fought back. I got into a lot of trouble because of that. The COs would berate me and lock me into my room without supper when I acted up.

“One day, I got sent to the guy in charge. He was like the principal of the place or something. He told me I needed to clean my act, to be nicer, to stop causing trouble. You know what he did? He bent me over his knee and _spanked_ me. I was humiliated. It happened a few times. Then, he obviously realised it didn’t do me any good. I was terrified of him and he knew it. I was stupid back then, I truly wanted to belong. I didn’t want to disappoint adults. I did try to be good. And I told him. I cried and promised I’d be good. That wasn’t enough. He slapped me, bent me over his desk, belted me with his belt, and then he fucked me. Afterward, he sent me to class with blood and jizz running down my thighs. I had to spend the day with other students with the seat of my pants wet and absolutely no idea what had just happened. I couldn’t stop crying, I was so weak. It happened more times than I care to count afterwards. He made me _like_ it. So I repeated the pattern with the other kids in school. You know of my reputation back then so I don’t have to elaborate. Anyway. It happened while I was on the streets and it happened while I was whoring. I got drugged and gang-raped and beaten up. That’s how I got that nice scar on my face.” He smiled humourlessly. “So? Do you still love me?”

This time, James was staring at him, wide eyed and face white. He looked horrified. Keith felt a stab of painful satisfaction at his expression. This was what he’d gone for: horror. People never liked to see behind the veil—they were content with his pretty face. They didn’t care for what was on the other side, didn’t want to see the ugly, deep scars on his soul. Did James know that nobody else but him knew the whole story? Adam and Lance had been given snippets of it, never the complete thing. Keith hadn’t thought they could handle it—he’d known he couldn’t handle their pity. Or their horror.

To his surprise, James didn’t get up to leave. He sat straighter as he schooled his expression.

“Yes,” he answered simply to Keith’s dismay. “In fact, that only reinforces my first impression of you.”

“W-what?”

“I’ll tell you this because I know this won’t leave this room. You already know this, but my father rules my life. He’s always had. Ever since I was a child, his presence has loomed over me. He was behind at every pivotal moment of my life. Not as support like an ordinary parent would but as a whip spurring me on.” James sighed. “He’s an ass. When I was a child, he’d beat me if I didn’t get straight A’s or if any of my teachers had a bad word to say about me. He’d slap me and belt me, sometimes in front of my mother or guests. He thought it was the only way to get me on the good path, to teach me to work hard and to fear the consequences of failures. Failures didn’t scare me, he did. He scared me shitless. I couldn’t sleep at night because I was afraid he’d just burst into my room to push me around. Every time I set foot in my own home, I was afraid. I had no power there, no say in anything. I couldn’t choose my clothes or my friends or even my own food. He had to vet everything to make sure I didn’t end up humiliating him.

“So when I was at school, it was the only time I had some power over my own decisions. People liked me. I had tons of unofficial friends, the kind that you never invite home. It’s only with hindsight that I can say I was as much of an ass to the other kids as my father was to me. I’d have bullied anyone, but you were the perfect target because everybody else already bullied you. I simply joined in like it was the most natural thing. It gave me a sense of power. I _liked_ being the strong one for once. Except that you didn’t take a beating lying down. No matter how often you were thrown to the ground, you always got up. I remember being so angry at this. I kept thinking that you’d suffer less if you just accepted your fate and cowered on the floor. But it wasn’t like you to give up. You never showed any sign of weakness in front of us. You never even cried. Your eyes were always perfectly dried, like you didn’t give a damn about it all, like you weren’t in pain or terrified or sad.

“I envied that, Keith, because I lived in a state of constant fear. I didn’t understand how you managed to get up, dust yourself off, and go on about your business without shedding a single tear. Whenever my father beat me, I’d always end up crying. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop myself. It… angered me that you didn’t cry. You were a poor, friendless boy and you were supposed to be weak because of this. Instead, you were strong, stronger than me, and it challenged everything I’d been told. I envied you your strength as much as I hated you for it. It didn’t make sense to me. It didn’t help that I found you attractive. I’d heard the rumours that you were… going around the other students. I wanted you to make advances at me because I was too weak to make the first move. I kept thinking how humiliated my father would be if he learned that I fancied a boy like you. When you… did what you did in the showers, I was sure I’d just lucked out, that you were finally interested in me. Not long after, you were kicked out of school. I was so devastated. I thought I’d never see you again. Part of me was glad because I knew it’d never work out between us. You can’t imagine how much I lusted after you after that incident. I wanted to hate you for it, hate you for making me admire strength and willfulness and resilience. It had been hammered into me that my partner should be like my mother: weak, complacent, docile, obedient. I didn’t understand why I didn’t want that.” He shook his head. “Mind me, I love my mother dearly. She’s strong in her way, but I didn’t understand that when I was fourteen. I didn’t understand why she didn’t fight for me, didn’t stand up to my father when she disapproved of what he was doing. I kept telling myself that the person I was going to marry wouldn’t be like that, yet I find myself repeating the same pattern as my father.

“I’m… I mean, I’ve been rough with you when I was angry. There are times when I wish I could slap you to put you in your place. I hate when you talk back as much as I like it. This situation is not easy for me, Keith. You confound me. I wish I were better for you, that I knew how to handle my feelings for you, that I didn’t fall back on the bad behaviour my father beat into me.” James looked up, eyes serious and unwavering. “So, no, I’m not disgusted. I’m horrified that you had to go through this. It doesn’t matter that you’re poor or don’t know you place—no kid should have to suffer like that. I admire you all the more.”

This _wasn’t_ what Keith had expected at all. It was in fact so far from what had been in his mind that he was thrown off kilter. He had no idea what to answer, what to make of that long monologue. Had James confessed this in hopes of gaining his pity? Were they comparing their sob stories? Was James hoping Keith would forget their bad history and jump into his arms?

Looking at James, _really_ looking at him, Keith saw that no, there had been no such thought at the back of his mind. He’d simply wanted to explain why Keith’s own monologue hadn’t affected his feelings. He withered in front of that honest stare. He shrank back in his chair, embarrassed. He’d revealed so much in hopes that James would leave, disgusted. He hadn’t expected compassion or acceptance. He’d bared his whole life to this man. He’d made himself vulnerable while trying to be strong. He felt oddly naked, seen. Uncomfortable thoughts whirled inside his mind. If James loved him despite it all, what did that mean? Did that make his feelings real?

“Your father’s an ass,” Keith mumbled. “I don’t understand why parents treat their kids that way.”

James shrugged. “I don’t know either. That’s why I don’t want children—I’m afraid of repeating the same pattern.”

“I’m… I’m sorry for what you went through. You’re still a bastard, but I at least understand why you’re a bastard now.”

“You’ve really got a nasty mouth on you, don’t you?” There was a thin thread of humour in his voice. “That’s nice.”

“James, look, I don’t know what you expect to come of this. We’re on the same page about our past, that’s cool I guess, but that doesn’t change much. I still won’t date you and I still won’t sleep with you. I’m not a whore anymore.”

“I know, I know! I’ll simply wait for the guy who bought your licence to grow tired of you. When you’re back in business, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Keith’s whole body went rigid at this casually cruel comment. James had apparently no idea of how offensive that was because he kept smiling in that effortlessly charming way of his.

It hurt because this was something he had been refusing to contemplate. Wor and he hadn’t discussed the expiration date of their arrangement. There was no telling how long he’d remain on Earth or how long he’d remain interested in Keith. Things were good right now—Wor obviously liked him a lot. This could change rapidly. He could wake up one morning and decide he was tired of Keith. Or Keith could ruin it up. Or Wor could be called back to Kaax'oits. A hundreds things could happen. And what of Keith then? He was twenty-three, he couldn’t retire yet. Whatever money he’d put aside would never be enough to support him throughout the rest of his life.

James was suggesting that Keith would just go back to being a whore. For some reason, it hadn’t crossed Keith’s mind to do just that afterward. He’d been idealistically naïve, thinking Wor would remain around long enough for him to pile up enough money to retire. He still had the drug business, he couldn’t forget that, but that had never been his main job. It nonetheless would be better than being a prostitute again, especially considering the fact that he’d surely be declassed to class-four or five after having slept with an alien for so long.

Shit. He couldn’t think about this right now. He didn’t want to open his defenses again. He’d left himself wide open and, as a result, James’ comment hurt more than it should. Keith struggled to build his walls up again. He needed to hide until the soft core that had just been exposed to the blinding light of day was safe again.

“It’s awfully bold of you to think Wor would ever tire of me,” Keith said.

He was stupidly proud of his unwavering voice. He sat back in his chair, crossing his legs one over the other so the fabric of his pants pulled tight. As planned, James’ attention wavered.

“What? Oh, uh, I don’t know?” He cleared his throat and said severely: “Don’t be a tease if you have no intention on delivering.”

“What did I do? I’m just sitting.”

“Keith! You’re _you_! You can’t just sit there innocently! Everything you do is hot!”

“Even picking my nose? Or sneezing? You’re really weirder than I thought.”

James scowled. “Now you’re being ridiculous! It’s just… weird for me to be here in your home while you’re sitting across from me like it’s the most natural thing! The way you’re dressed, it’s like you know I was coming and you wanted to torture me.”

Dumbfounded, Keith looked down at himself. Nope, there was nothing sexy about his sweat pants and his old sweater. None of it was remotely tight. Maybe James meant the hole in his pants just above the knee was hot?

“It’s you who’s ridiculous, my poor James. You’re really way too horny.”

James blushed. To his credit, he bulled forward rather than getting angry. “It’s not that. I like seeing you like that. Every time we met in the past had been planned. You always dressed with those sinfully tight pants. I thought you made yourself up, like, I don’t know, maybe wore make up to be prettier or whatever. But you never did that. You were always at your natural, like you are right now. You’re beautiful even dressed down like you are. And when you had that kid in your arms… I know I don’t want kids, but—” His face turned crimson. “But I can’t help imagining what it would feel like to come home to you taking care of my kids. _Our_ kids.”

This was getting from bad to worse. Keith hadn’t expected this at all. His face felt hot. He couldn’t be blushing, could he? He hated being complimented in that way. It sounded so honest, so true.

Surely emboldened by Keith’s stunned silence, James got up. He leaned over the other, both hands firmly planted on the chair’s armrests. Keith couldn’t move back because of the backrest. Their faces were close, their nose almost touching. He could feel James’ breath against his cheek, smell the expensive cologne he liked to wear.

“That’s a nice picture I have,” James said, voice soft. “I like imagining you living with me, awaiting my return from work. I like the thought of you raising my kids, giving them your spark, teaching them out to stand up for themselves. I like the thought of you putting them to bed and then coming to _my_ bed looking exactly as you do right now.” He touched the side of Keith’s neck, exposed due to his hair being pulled back. “I’d be good to you, Keith. I’d take care of you. I’d put my hand over your mouth as I took you so the kids wouldn’t hear—I know you can be loud. And in the morning, after they were gone to school, I’d do it again and this time you could be loud as you like. I’d call you from work just to hear your pretty voice. Maybe you’d visit me during lunchtime for some fun in my office. I’d spend the whole day thinking about you, looking forward to seeing you again. Everybody would be jealous of me, of my beautiful partner raising our children. They would—”

The front door banged open. Keith turned, eyes wide, to see Lance rushing in with a huge grin on his face, carrying what appeared to be a laptop case. The three of them froze in a disbelieving tableau as they all stared at each other. As if in slow motion, Keith saw Lance’s expression change. His smile turned into a frown and the happy glint in his eye turned murderous. Lance was a good guy until he was angry.

“Lance—”

He never had time to finish. Lance was across the room and tackling James to the floor before Keith could blink. They tumbled on the carpet in a tangle of flying limbs. Lance had to be a good ten pound lighter than James, but he’d been living in low town for all his life so he knew how to brawl. His fist flew and caught the other guy’s square on the nose. Blood exploded. Lance would have gone for another punch if Keith hadn’t grabbed his arm. Yelling at them to stop, he hauled Lance off James. He had to use all his strength to restrain his friend.

“Stop it! Lance! Stop!”

Lance stopped wriggling to get free. He glared evilly at James, chest heaving, teeth clenched, and muscles quivering. There was blood on the knuckles of his right hand. His body under Keith’s hands was as tight as a bow.

“You motherfucker!” Lance spat. “Who are you?! What are you doing here?!”

Painfully, James was getting to his feet. He shook as he wiped at his bloodied nose with the back of his hand. He looked stunned, as if he had no idea what had just happened. He looked at Lance, eyes wide.

Keith stood between the two in case they wanted another go at each other. “Lance, calm down. It’s James. He’s all right.” He looked at James. “And this is Lance.” He winced when he heard Katarzyna’s cries coming from his bedroom. “Look, I’ll fetch Katarzyna. You better behave, both of you.”

The commotion had woken up the girl. Keith fetched her from his room, holding her gently and patting her back until she calmed down. He kept an ear cocked towards the living room, certain that Lance was going to have another go at James. Poor guy, he hadn’t expected to come home to see someone looming over Keith. Lance knew Keith was strong enough to handle himself yet he hadn’t hesitated to come to his rescue nonetheless. It was touching, if somewhat foolish. Keith couldn’t stop himself from smiling a tiny bit. At least Lance’s arrival had put a stop to James’ embarrassing talk about kids and living together.

Back in the living room, Lance and James were still glaring at each other like two lions in the same cage. Well, James looked a bit too shaken to do much glaring. He’d clearly never been in a fistfight in all his life and hadn’t liked one second of it. Lance wasn’t a violent person, yet he wouldn’t hesitate to have another go at James should the need arise.

Lance looked ready to be talked down when James had to open his big mouth. He said haughtily: “Ah, so that’s Álvarez. Yes, now I remember—the dumb one sitting at the front of the class.”

Lance’s hackles rose. “Try saying that again when your nose isn’t smashed, Griffin. You just sound ridiculous.”

“Urgh, please, stop it!” Keith groaned with a roll of his eyes. He handed Katarzyna to Lance. “Lance, calm her down while I make sure you didn’t break James’ nose. You don’t want to be sued for damaging his face, don’t you?”

Lance opened his mouth to retort angrily. As soon as Katarzyna was in his arms however, he calmed down visibly. His shoulders slumped as he hugged his daughter, all thoughts of James forgotten now that he knew there was no immediate danger. Keith touched his arm briefly in thanks before motioning at James to follow him to the bathroom.

“You’ll have to excuse Lance,” Keith said, touching James’ nose to feel for any breakage. “He didn’t expect to see some strange bloke in his flat.”

A wordless groan escaped from James’ lips. He winced, making a visible effort not to pull away. “I-I ought to have him thrown in jail! What kind of animal just jump on someone before asking questions?!”

“Low town is a dangerous place to live in. If you ask questions before acting, you might wind up dead. There, you big baby, it’s not even broken. We’ll put some ice on it so it doesn’t swell too much.”

“Urgh, I feel like my face’s been punched in…” James looked at his reflection in the old mirror, grimacing at what he saw. “Are you sure it’s not broken? It looks bent. Damn it, how am I going to explain this to my parents?”

“I’d suggest you ask your friend doctor to check it, but knowing her, she’d announce it on the evening news.” Keith rolled his eyes at the question. “Just say you walked into a door or something. Or avoid them until it heals.” He hesitated. “You’re not really going to sue Lance, right?”

A sigh. “No, I won’t sue him if he apologizes.”

“James! Don’t be like that. Lance just lost his uncle and his cousin, he doesn’t need that on top of it all.”

James didn’t look much mollified. The skin around his eyes was already blackening, making his scowl all the darker. His hair was mussed and his clothes disheveled.

“You really like him,” he grumbled.

“Lance? Yeah, of course, he’s my big brother. He’s a good guy. He’s usually not violent, quite the opposite. Come on, don’t be an ass.”

“Fine, whatever. Suing him would force me to admit I got beaten up by a bloke as scrawny as rail.”

“Exactly. Don’t feel too bad, most people don’t know how to take a punch and it’s always jarring to get hit in the face when you aren’t used to it.”

“Yes, I guess it is.” He sighed. “I should go home now. I’ve clearly overstayed my welcome.”

“As you wish. I’ll walk you back to the station, okay? It’s getting dark and I don’t want you to get mugged.”

James looked at him dubiously. “As if you could do something against a mugger.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. Come on.”

Keith saw that Lance obviously wanted to talk to him, but didn’t dare do so with James in the room. He kept his glaring to a minimum, which Keith was thankful for. He didn’t want them to argue too much, not with Katarzyna in the room. She was already upset by what had happened—she kept whimpering, refusing to be put down.

Keith and James left after putting their jacket on. James looked relieved to be out of the apartment. He took in a deep breath as soon as he set foot outside. The flat had probably been too small to his liking, or too dirty, or too cheap, or whatever. Keith shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat as they made their way towards the skymetro station. James walked close to him with his shoulders hunched, obviously ill at ease. There was some pedestrian traffic at that time of day, folks returning home after work while others hurried to their favourite watering hole. They thankfully didn’t meet any addict lying on the sidewalk or drug dealer exposing their wares for the world to see. Keith felt oddly protective of his little corner of the city—he didn’t want James turning his nose up at it. Low town might not be pretty, it was still his home. He’d lived in the desert with his father and in upper town at the youth centre, yet it was still low town that had welcomed him with open arms. It was in low town he’d met Lance and his family, and it was here he was making his business. It didn’t matter that he wanted to leave—it was still home.

Either by accident or not, James brushed his arm against his as they walked. He stood out like a sore thumb amongst the rabble. With his fancy coat, it was easy to see he didn’t belong. He got a few sidelong glances from pickpockets who scurried away when they recognized Keith. As if sensing the unfriendly looks, James turned his collar up.

A female whore standing on one corner whistled at James, lifting her skirt invitingly. James blushed and looked away.

“You always get the good-looking ones, Keith!” the woman shouted with a laugh.

“Oh, jeez, do you know her?” James hissed in consternation.

Keith shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve seen her around. This is a small world.” He couldn’t stop himself from adding: “But I do get the good-looking ones.”

James blushed even more, eyes going wide. Keith quirked an eyebrow at him and snorted in amusement when the other nearly collided with a lamppost.

His amusement lasted up until they reached the station. There was a crowd milling about, which was unusual. There usually weren’t enough people going to and fro to cause such a gathering. As they got closer, Keith saw that the whole building had been corded off by bright yellow police tape. Had there been an accident? Judging by the dark grumblings, this seemed to be much more serious. There were half a dozen Galra in their CTAC uniform keeping watch. The sight of them dropped a lead weight of worry down Keith’s stomach.

“What’s going on here?” James asked, elbowing his way through the crowd.

One of the policemen turned to look at him. “Bridge’s closed.”

“What?! Why? When will it open up again?”

Keith grabbed his arm in warning. “Don’t antagonise the CTAC,” he said in a low voice.

“I don’t know,” the policeman answered. “Orders from Commander Sendak. The bridge’s to be closed off until further notice.” He looked James up and down. “Eh, sucks to be you, rich boy. You’re stuck here for a while. Better get comfortable.”


	26. Chapter 26

“You want James to stay here until the bridge opens again?” Lance asked, aghast.

It was the third time he was repeating it, as if the more often he said the less true it would become. Keith rubbed his temples—it had been only ten minutes and he was already getting a headache. It didn’t help that James was looking as flummoxed as Lance.

“Yes. I certainly won’t throw him out on the street. Stop looking at me as if I’d suggested you sleep together, damn it!”

They both shivered in disgust. Keith was starting to regret this.

James had called his father to tell him of the situation, hoping the older man might do something about it. Instead, he’d _laughed_ at his son, telling him it was his own stupid fault for having crossed the bridge in the first place. Keith couldn’t help feeling bad for the guy—this truly couldn’t be easy for him. He wasn’t sure he’d be faring better in his place.

In fact, he wasn’t faring much better because now they’d be five adults and a kid in an apartment that was already too tiny for four. The place felt even smaller because Lance and James wouldn’t stop glaring mistrustfully at each other from across the room.

The news of the closing of the bridge was worrying. Keith couldn’t recall the only link between the two sides of Neo-Metropolis ever being out of commission, not even for maintenance. It didn’t help that this was all Commander Sendak’s fault. This had the smell of a coup or the prelude of trouble. Keith hoped Prince Lotor stepped in to put an end to this madness. The situation couldn’t last forever—the link existed because people needed to cross from one side to the other. How was Keith going to see Adam if the bridge remained closed?

_[Keith] The bridge’s closed. Have you heard something?_

_[Adam] No. I don’t know what’s going on. They didn’t explain why on the news. Sit tight, I’ll try to find out what I can._

_[Keith] Okay. Keep me updated._

When Allura and Fala came back, the bridge was all they could talk about. It was the talk of the town already. Nobody seemed to know anything, only that CTAC policemen were guarding the stations and not allowing anyone to cross. The more they talked, the greener around the gills James got. He was trying to get information from his own friends without much success. They let the telly on at the news channel, hoping they might learn something.

Despite everything, Keith couldn’t help feeling bad for James. It was easy to see he was ill-at-ease, so out of place in this old, dirty flat to be almost funny. He was polite to both Allura and Fala, his good breeding showing, yet the tension never once vanished from his shoulders. Lance and he exchanged murderous glances over the dining table, which only made things all the more awkward. None of them was a great cook, so James looked at his food like he’d been handed barf rather than stew. He ate because he was hungry, nonetheless thanking Fala for the meal (after Keith had kicked him under the table).

Throughout the evening, they didn’t learn more about the bridge situation. There was no statement from either Sendak or Lotor, leaving them all in the dark. Despite their contacts in upper town, no news came. Probably weirded out by the whole tension, Fala and Allura excused themselves early.

“I don’t suppose there are good hotels in the vicinity,” James grumbled.

They were in the living room around the telly. James still sat on his coat on the couch. Keith sat beside him because having Lance do so would have ended up in a blood bath. Lance sat on the chair with Katarzyna asleep in his arms and a stubborn scowl on his face. Apparently, it was going to remain there for as long as James was in the house. Keith was afraid his features might freeze forever in that unattractive expression.

“Not really,” Keith said apologetically. “They’re all booked for the New Year festivities. You can sleep here for the night. We’ll try to find better accommodations for tomorrow.”

A myriad of expressions ran across James’ face at this: disgust, then hopelessness, then annoyance, then realisation. Keith could read his thoughts as if they were being broadcasted to him—he thought they were going to sleep _together_.

The thoughts were apparently broadcasted to Lance too because he said: “Yeah, you can sleep on the couch. There aren’t too many fleas on it so you should survive.”

James looked insulted. “Sleep on the couch?! Not a chance! What am I, a dog?”

“No, you’re the unwanted guest. There’s nowhere else to put you, anyway. I suppose you can sleep on the floor if you prefer.”

James’ lip curled up in disgust as he looked down at the old, ratty carpet. “But that’s the thing: I’m the guest so I should be afforded a better place. A bed, at least.”

Lance grinned, a shit-eating grin so out of character to look odd on his face. “Oh, a bed? Sure, you can share mine. Keith won’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

“What? Me, share a bed with _you_? Not in your wildest dreams! You probably snore like hell!”

“What, and you think Keith doesn’t snore because he’s pretty? Ah! He snores like a truck!”

Keith could have ignored their bickering if they’d bickered about anything else. He couldn’t stand being stuck in the middle of this. There were people who liked when people fought over them. He just thought it was distasteful.

“Shut up, both of you,” he grumbled. “James, you’re going to sleep on the couch whether you like it or not. Katarzyna’s crib is in my room anyway so she’ll wake you up when she cries at night.”

Lance offered James a smug look while James fumed silently. His jaw worked so hard Keith fancied he could hear the grinding of his teeth. He patted his shoulder in a way he hoped to be reassuring rather than condescending. It wasn’t as if he could do much to change the situation. It was true that most _good_ hotel rooms would be booked. He could settle for a bad hotel, which would surely result in him catching bedbugs or having his wallet stolen by a maid. At least here he was safer. It was simply too bad that he couldn’t see it. Maybe Keith would try to find him somewhere else to stay at if the situation didn’t resolve itself soon. This had to be fixed—the consequences otherwise would be catastrophic. Keith simply couldn’t imagine the five of them living here in the long term. No, he _really_ didn’t want to think about it.

“I’m sorry about that,” Keith said honestly when they were all ready to go to bed. He handed James spare blankets. “It’s the best we can do at such short notice.”

James took the blankets with a sigh, looking utterly wretched. “It’s fine. I should survive. How do you live like this, though?”

“Allura and Fala used to live with a friend in upper town up until things got too dangerous for them, so they moved back in. When it’s just Lance and me, it’s fine. As you can see, we aren’t used to having many guests.”

“Yes, I can see that. Are you sure we can’t sleep together?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “James, this is Lance’s flat too. I can’t kick him to the couch just so you can sleep with me. My bed isn’t much better than the couch, I promise.”

A scowl. “Perhaps, but at least you’d be there to make things better.”

“And Lance wasn’t kidding when he said I snore. Anyway, good night, James.”

Just as he was turning to leave, James grabbed his arm. “Keith, wait.” He looked away, face reddening. “Thank you. The accommodations suck, but it’s better than nothing. It’s nice of you not to have kicked me to the curb.”

“I wouldn’t have done that, idiot, I’m not a monster. You would’ve frozen to death anyway. Don’t thank me. Good night.”

“Yeah, good night.”

Poor James looked so pitiful as he stood there with the blankets in his arms.

Keith offered him a smile before he went to his own room. He closed the door and leaned against it with a groan. The bridge problem had to be fixed soon or he wasn’t going to survive. Lance was too busy putting Katarzyna to bed to comment on the annoying situation. Keith had no idea what to do. Should he apologize for James’ presence? It wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t asked the infatuated idiot to come here. On the other hand, he was here because of Keith. It still wasn’t reason enough to apologize—Keith certainly couldn’t have kicked him out to wander alone the unsafe streets of low town. Freezing would have been the gentlest death he could have hoped for in that situation. Lance knew that, he was being difficult for the sake of it. He was flexing, defending his territory against what he perceived to be a threat.

Leaving Lance to take care of his daughter, Keith put on his pajamas. He usually slept wearing a shirt and underwear, but he decided to pull on pants too this time. It would feel too awkward walking around the house in a state of undress with James around to see it. The guy might take it as an invitation. It might give him another glimpse of the life he wished to share with Keith, the one where they lived happily together in a home filled with their kids. It had been an odd thing for him to share. Keith was used to men talking about their fantasies, and rare were those that involved homemaking and raising children. He knew of course that _baby_ making had also been in James’ mind—it had been easy to see in his lust-filled eyes as he leaned over Keith. He was glad that Lance had arrived at the right instant—he wouldn’t have known what to say to that kind of advance.

When Katarzyna was finally sleeping in her crib, Lance joined him in bed after turning off the light. Keith was falling asleep and he grumbled when the other pressed against his back, wrapping one arm around his waist and draping one leg over his knee.

“I have good news,” Lance said in a soft voice into his hair.

“Hm? What is it?”

“Someone gave us back all the material that got stolen from the plant. A guy just brought it all back to us.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Uh-uh.” Lance paused. “Does your Shiro have a brother?” At Keith’s shake of the head, he said: “Uh. He kind of looked like him? Not just as buff? Anyway. He was pretty awkward—couldn’t look me in the eye for some reason. Pidge and Hunk were so ecstatic they would’ve kissed him!”

“Lance, that’s great! They can begin producing the Arts much sooner than expected.”

“I know right? Shit, now that I think of it, I don’t know if Pidge made it back across the bridge? I gotta text her tomorrow to ask. She must be staying with Hunk if she didn’t ask to come here.”

“It’s a good thing she didn’t come here—I’ve no idea where we’d have put her. She’s small but I don’t think she’d have fitted between Allura and Fala or between you and me. Speaking of which,” Keith lowered his voice to a growl, “if that’s your boner against my ass, Lance, I swear I’m gonna bite it off. Now’s not the time!”

Who was he kidding, of course it was Lance’s boner pushing against his ass. Lance laughed low in his throat—his chest was pressed so tight to Keith’s back that he felt it rumble against his spine. Lance pressed kisses into Keith’s hair, his hand gripping his hip tightly as he rubbed against him. He was almost fully hard already. Keith had to make a decision right now—stop Lance or allow him to continue. He leaned towards the second option: having a hard dick pressing against his butt kind of turned him on. Yet they had a guest in the living room and the walls were so thin James couldn’t fail to hear them. This had to be one of the reasons why Lance was doing this. He wasn’t possessive, not in the least, but he disliked James. And he was also happy about the returned material to build the Arts and Lance tended to get horny when he was in a good mood.

Keith bit back a curse when Lance’s hand slipped under his shirt. The asshole, he knew what he was doing. He wanted Keith to give in. Had they’d been alone, Keith would have made him regret this. Lance was getting a rain check this time.

“You better be quiet,” Keith hissed as he pulled down his pants and underwear.

“You’re the one who always whines and begs and screams like a porn star, baby bro.”

“Shit, I hate you so much, Lance. I swear I will make you regret this!”

Lance had the nerve to _chuckle._ “I sure hope you will.”

-

Keith woke up with a jerk. He tore himself from Lance’s loose embrace, panting hard and skin bathed in sweat. He was so hot he had to kick the blankets off him. He shouldn’t have talked about that, should have known it would come back to haunt him as it always did. The familiar room, the familiar presence beside him, nothing helped ground him. He felt disjointed, like he was floating between realities. His body was in his bedroom, in his flat, while his mind travelled back the years, back to the youth centre, back to that man who’d broken him. He touched his face, sure that he’d feel tears coursing down his cheeks as they had that day—they were slick with sweat, nothing more. He hadn’t cried since then, not even after the nightmares just like this one.

His stomach hurt as if it’d been filled with acid. Shakily, Keith got to his feet. He looked down at his naked legs, sure he’d see blood there. There wasn’t, of course there wasn’t. Lance would never make him bleed. Yet he couldn’t shake the remnants of the dream, shake the feel of that man’s hands on him. He’d been _eleven,_ how can someone rape an eleven-year-old? The mere thought of it sent him rushing to the bathroom and retching into the toilet. Everything he’d eaten ended up in the bowl, a disgusting mix thankfully devoid of colour in the darkness of the night. The tiled floor felt blessedly cool on his skin. He leaned against the toilet, panting, trying to calm his racing heart. Strands of hair stuck to his skin. He was an idiot—why the fuck had he brought this up? He’d never told anybody, and he had to tell some guy who used to bully him? What the hell was wrong with him?

His stomach cramped again and he threw up a thin stream of bile. The acidic liquid burned his throat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand shakily. Right now, all he wanted was to get drunk or high, to get his hands on something that would numb the memories.

They just wouldn’t go away—they kept playing at the back of his mind like some macabre movie. He saw himself again at eleven in that room, terrified shitless, shaking like a leaf as the man berated him for getting yet again into a fight. Keith had tried to make him understand that he always fought _back_ , that he never initiated the thing. The man never listened. He’d shake his head in that disappointed manner, looking down at Keith like he was some dog who wouldn’t learn a new trick. Keith had cried then, afraid and disappointed in himself because he’d _tried_ to be good. He wanted to be good, to be better, to be meek and kind and patient.

He just couldn’t, not with that inferno raging in his chest begging to be let out, not when the other kids made fun of him and pushed him around and pulled his hair and destroyed his stuff. There had been no explaining this to the man. He hadn’t wanted to know, he’d just wanted results. So he’d said he had to punish Keith, make him understand the errors of his way. Keith had gone along with it because, surely, if an adult said they knew what to do, they had to be right, right? He’d allowed himself to be slapped, barely daring to cry harder or to show any sign of pain. Then he’d allowed himself to be bent over the desk, to have his pants pulled down to his ankles. To this day, he still remembered every knickknack that had been on that desk just as he remembered the pain of being belted across his naked butt.

The welts hadn’t faded for weeks afterwards. He remembered the way the man had panted as he beat him, the exact smell of his exited sweat. He’d been horny, Keith now knew. It had turned him on to beat a kid. After a while, he’d tired of the belt. He’d pressed Keith back down when he’d tried to rise, told him to stay still, that he wasn’t done teaching him a lesson. Keith’s vision had been too blurry by then to see what was going on around him. The man had rummaged in one of his drawers. When he’d come back, he’d shoved Keith’s face down hard, bruising his nose, pressing his cheek against the wood of the desk already wet with tears. With fingers slick with lube, he’d done a hasty job of opening Keith up, panting all the time, filthy words spilling from his lips. Keith had whimpered, crying harder, in pain, totally confused by what was happening. Then the man had pushed into him, forcing the breath out of his lungs. Keith had been too tensed to make it easy—the pain had been so blinding that he hadn’t been able to cry out. The man had fucked him hard, uncaring, one hand tangled in his hair to keep him down. There had been blood afterwards. Blood and so much pain and a sick feeling at the bottom of his heart that his vocabulary hadn’t been able to explain. The casual cruelty of sending him back to class afterward had left Keith speechless. He’d gone through the day unable to feel, unable to talk, barely able to sit. There’d been blood in his underwear at the end of the day, stark red against grey. He’d thrown them away, ashamed, disgusted by the mere sight of them. He hadn’t slept that night. There’d been blood in his pajama pants again the next morning and Keith had feared he’d bleed to death. It had been a preferable outcome than to talk to someone about it.

Ten years later, Keith could still feel that terror that had settled in his heart after this encounter. For days he’d gone through his routine in a daze, doing his tasks mechanically, out of habit. The physical tearing inside healed. The cracks in his soul didn’t. He’d been ashamed. It had been shame eating his insides out, shame that his eleven-year-old vocabulary couldn’t identify.

He threw up again, gasping for breath. He should’ve gone back, should have gone to kill that bastard. Maybe it would have made the pain stop earlier, made it easier to bear.

Shakily, he pushed his hair from his sweaty face. His stomach had settled enough to let him know that this was over. He got to his feet and flushed the toilet, wincing at the loud noise it made. Afterward, he rinsed his mouth off, washing off the taste of bile and shame and memories. He was tired, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep again. He didn’t want to lie down next to Lance and keep him awake with his tossing and turning.

He stopped by the living room to glance at the couch—James was asleep. Apparently, the whole ordeal of getting stuck in low town had tired him enough to make him forget about old blankets. Keith went back to his bedroom to pull on some clothes. Both Katarzyna and Lance were deeply asleep, blissfully unaware of the world around them. His heart nearly overflowed with a wave of love for Lance. It was so sudden it left him breathless. He knew he loved Lance, the strength of it just surprised him sometimes. He was still alive thanks to Lance. Without him, Keith certainly would have died on the streets. Humbled, happy, Keith leaned down to place a kiss on Lance’s messy hair, which earned him a grumble of protest.

“Shh, sleep, my handsome prince,” Keith whispered gently.

And, if by some magic, Lance settled back easily.

Once dressed, Keith left the flat quietly.

He really needed to punch something.


	27. Chapter 27

His goal had been the training hall.

Going through fight regimens was always a good way for him to get rid of his pent up anger and frustration. Had the Fightdome not been destroyed, he might have visited it—there used to be fights there. For a fee, you were allowed to face someone else while spectators placed bets. The winner got the money. Keith had never participated in one of those fights—Lance had been hard against it, sure that he’d get himself killed. There had to be somewhere else in low town that hosted such events, he just didn’t know it.

It had to be around four in the morning, not the safest time to be out in this part of town, so Keith paused when he realised the street was empty. Usually, there would be folk around—thieves and drug sellers and prostitutes thrived on the darkness. He was used to seeing them dotting the landscape whenever he took a walk to clear his mind at night. There was nobody around. It couldn’t be the weather—it was relatively warm for the season and, anyway, Keith couldn’t remember the temperature being too cold or the weather too bad to keep him indoors when he needed a fix. No, the stillness wasn’t normal. It wasn’t quiet, it was an absence of noise altogether.

His nerves thrummed as the adrenaline spiked inside his body. He took out his knife and stayed close to the buildings to his left. This neighbourhood was mostly full of old, abandoned edifices that had probably been warehouses in a distant past. Junkies and hobos had made this part of low town theirs. Usually, there would be campfires burning in trashcans and bodies strewn everywhere lying on lice-infested blankets. That narrow backstreet used to be Keith’s, the tiny parcel of ground he’d claimed for himself when he had nowhere else to go. He barely noticed it this time. Something wasn’t right.

The further in he trudged into the maze of alleys, the more nervous he got. It was stupid, he should go home. Whatever was happening here wasn’t any of his business. He should go if he didn’t want to get into trouble. Yet a tiny part of himself wanted to know. He wasn’t a coward and he didn’t turn his back. Finally, at one bend of a crooked street, he spotted a large dome of light ahead. Keeping close to the building, he peeped around the corner. For a second, he had absolutely no idea of what he was seeing. A large group of people were standing there under two bright spots of white, blinding light. Keith blinked, his night vision making it difficult for him to distinguish anything specific. Finally, the details coalesced into an understandable picture: those people were wearing dark uniforms not unlike the one worn by the CTAC. There had to be two hundred of them gathered around someone issuing orders. What struck Keith as weird was that none of them had guns. The CTAC—if those guys belonged to that organisation—were allowed to carry firearms and they never went anywhere without them. The weapons he could see at a glance ranged from knives to batons. What was an armed force doing here?

Asking himself this question made him realise being spotted here might be dangerous. Whatever was happening clearly was supposed to be secret—these guys wouldn’t appreciate finding him snooping. Their presence explained why the block was so quiet: all those with half a brain had known to keep away. Even junkies and hobos had a sense of self-preservation that kicked in when they sensed danger. Apparently, they were smarter than Keith.

He backed off slowly, suddenly aware of how loud his breathing sounded in the still air. Tiny pebbles crunched noisily beneath the sole of his boots. They couldn’t hear him, he told himself, not from that distance and not over the voice of the man speaking.

He thought he’d gotten away clear when someone asked directly behind him: “Who the fuck are you?”

Years of training kicked in immediately. He spun on his heel, slashing his knife. The blade cut across the thick jacket of a man wearing black. The man, stunned, took a step back, hands going to his chest. The cut was shallow, not at all life-threatening. He was a Galra, his features more animalistic than humans with yellow eyes and long fangs. They stared at each other for the beat of a heart. Then the Galra attacked with the baton at his side. Keith was already moving back. The speed at which the attack came caught him unprepared. Instead of trying to block, he threw himself backward. His back hit the pavement bone-jarringly hard, but he barely noticed it. He rolled back to his feet just in time to avoid being kicked in the face. His knife flashed and was blocked by the baton. They remained locked for an instant, baring their teeth at each other. Keith knew he couldn’t win a contest of strength against a Galra twice his size. He lashed out with his foot and caught the Galra in the knee. The man instantly folded with a gasp of surprise.

Keith didn’t hesitate—he turned tail and ran. He was three paces away when the Galra shouted that there was an intruder. Keith would have smacked himself. What the fuck was he thinking? He should have knocked the bastard unconscious. Of course the Galra would call for help. Gritting his teeth, he focused on running—maybe if he was fast he could find cover before reinforcements arrived.

The fist catching him on the forehead one street corner later proved him otherwise. He was bowled backward by the force of the impact, rolling on the wet pavement as stars exploded behind his eyelids. He had no idea where up and down were and he got to his feet only by sheer instinct. Colours danced in front of his eyes and his ears rang so much he heard the running footsteps at the last instant. He turned just in time to parry a punch. It slid harmlessly enough past his forearm. He threw his assailant’s arm wide, leaving them open for a punch of his own. His knuckles slammed into an armored chest. Something cracked and he followed the attack with a knee to a gut. His assailant stumbled back with a gasp of pain. Keith did the same, the knuckles of his left hand throbbing in time with the beat of his heart. He glanced down at them—they were bruised—he couldn’t tell whether they’d been broken.

Someone slammed into his back. He was propelled forward, but he managed to catch himself with one hand before he crashed to the ground. He barely had time to straighten that this new assailant was attacking him. The baton nearly caught him across the face. Keith leaned back, the baton passing half an inch from his nose. Another Galra grabbed him from behind, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. He was hefted off his feet easily. The first Galra came at him with the baton again. Keith waited until he was close enough and swung out his leg. Rather than kicking him, he put his foot on the Galra’s chest and _pushed_. Both Galras stumbled back. The one holding him barely slacked his grip. With his feet dangling off the ground, Keith had no leverage. He couldn’t slam his foot on his assailant’s instep and, with his arms pinned to his side, he couldn’t reach up to grab a face. He threw his head back. The top of his skull barely brushed the Galra’s chin.

And of course he’d dropped his knife. It laid a few feet away, the blade shimmering wetly under the weak moonlight.

He kicked back, but the angle wasn’t good enough. His heel clipped the Galra’s shin without enough force to hurt. The other Galra was approaching again, baton raised, face serious. He seemed to be getting tired of this chasing around. He kept his guard up, knowing that Keith would kick at him the second he got within range. The baton cracked against his ankle when he indeed tried to kick at the approaching Galra. He cried out in shock. He tasted blood at the back of his mouth. The baton next caught him across the face. Agony exploded in a thousand blinding stars. He lost a couple of precious seconds, his world rocked by red hot pain. There was a loud, whining noise in his ears. He lashed out blindly unsure what was going on.

The grasp the Galra had around him tightened painfully before slackening completely. Keith slid to his knees on the ground, blinking furiously his watering eyes. Through a blurry haze, he saw that the two Galras who’d attacked him had been knocked unconscious. Someone stood over them, a human man also wearing dark clothing.

Keith gasped at the sight of him. “Shiro?” he blurted out.

But no. When the man turned to look at him, Keith saw this wasn’t Shiro. The resemblance was uncanny, jarring enough to leave him reeling. The man came to him and helped him to his feet.

“I’m fine,” Keith said, pushing him away. He touched the side of his face. “Shit, I thought they’d broken my jaw.” Broken, no; painful, fuck yes.

“We can’t stay here,” the man said in a weirdly accented voice. “There’s more of them coming.”

As if his words had summoned them, four Galras rounded the corner. Keith swore under his breath. He picked up his knife, ready to confront them. Instead, the guy grabbed his arm and pulled him in the opposite direction. Running hurt his ankle. He gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain, hoping his ankle hadn’t been broken.

Another group of Galras poured out from a side street just in front of them. Keith didn’t slow his pace. He spotted an overturned crate, used it like a stepladder and jumped at the nearest Galra. His knee crunched into the woman’s face in a spray of blood and loosened teeth. The impact slowed his momentum enough that he didn’t hurt himself as he rolled on his shoulder to pop on his feet immediately. He grabbed the baton the woman had dropped and slammed it into the back of another Galra. The blow was softened by the padded jacket the man wore. He turned with a grunt of pain, claw-like hand nearly raking Keith across the face. Keith ducked, shifted his hold on the baton, and shoved it into the Galra’s chest. Air whooshed out of the man’s lungs as he instinctively bent at the waist. Keith elbowed him in the face, knocking him out instantly.

Panting, he turned, fists raised, ready to face his next opponent. There was none. Every Galra lay on the ground, unconscious. The guy who looked like Shiro had apparently managed to take care of five Galras on his own. Keith had to be impressed. They exchanged one look—they had to get out of here. Keith motioned at the guy to follow him and they left the main thoroughfare to slip into back alleys. This was a neighbourhood he knew relatively well so he knew which streets ended in a dead-end. The air smelled of sewers and spilled garbage, making him wonder how he had managed to live out here for some three years of his life. The ground underfoot was slimy and littered with used syringes. He pushed on, ignoring his unsavoury surroundings until he was pretty sure they’d evaded any pursuit.

He was about to say so when the guy grabbed his arm and pulled him into a narrow doorway. He heard it then: footsteps coming ahead. The doorway would provide them enough cover up until the Galra were right on top of them. This wasn’t the guy’s plan apparently—he put his shoulder to the old, rotting door and pushed. Swollen by age and humidity, the wood didn’t give immediately. The footsteps were getting closer. Keith could hear distinct voices—there had to be five people there. The tight quarters of the alleyway would help him—at least the Galra couldn’t crowd him. The door finally gave way with a squeak of hinges.

They just had time to rush inside and close the door behind them that the Galra patrol was walking right in front of their hiding place. Keith held his breath, certain that they’d heard the squealing of the hinges. Apparently not—they continued on their way without glancing toward the door. Keith sighed in relief.

“I think they’re gone,” he mumbled.

He looked around himself, trying to gauge where he had ended up. This seemed like an abandoned building of indeterminable use, dark, and smelling of disuse. No doubt it would be crawling with hobos if not for the Galras outside. He took out his PDA and used the flashlight app. The narrow beam of light illuminated old machines that had long ago fallen into disuse. As he had predicted, he spotted piles of blankets and knickknacks left every which way. Syringes lined the floor, their needle gleaming in the light.

Then the beam of light fell on the guy and Keith nearly called him _Shiro_ again. He blinked, confused. No, he had been right the first time, the guy indeed looked like Shiro, but it wasn’t him. He was slightly taller for one and, though still big, he wasn’t as bulky. The shape of his eyes was like Shiro’s, oval rather than round, as if he were also from the old Asiatic countries.

“Thanks, for your help out there,” Keith said to break the awkward silence.

The guy stared at him silently. Keith would be hard put to describe his expression: something between uncertain and vulnerable, like he had no idea what to do or what to say. The way he stared at Keith was overly familiar, as if they were supposed they know each other and he was wondering why Keith wasn’t greeting him by name. It wasn’t impolite, simply disconcerting.

“Uh, I’m Keith,” he volunteered. “What’s your name?”

“Sven.”

“Right, Sven. Are you a policeman?”

The clothes Sven was wearing reminded him somewhat of the police uniform he’d seen on Shiro, minus the lettering.

“No. I’m not from around.”

“Ah. Well, anyway, thanks again for your help. We should get going.”

Instead of answering, Sven took out a device resembling a PDA. Whatever he saw on it made him shook his head. “No, not yet. There are still three patrols on the vicinity.”

“What? How do you know?”

“I keep track of them. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you once the coast is clear. In the meantime, turn that light off, please. It might attract them.”

Keith frowned at being told what to do. He obeyed mostly because he knew Sven to be right—the windows were boarded imperfectly so light seeped through the cracks. It would be easy for any Galra passing by to spot their hiding place.

It was cold and humid in there. The sweat Keith had worked up during the fight was drying on his skin, making him shiver. He huddled deeper into his jacket, wishing he’d stayed home and wondering what this was all about.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on?” he asked.

Sven didn’t answer for a moment. It was too dark to see fine details. Keith only perceived his silhouette. Lucky him, he didn’t seem to notice the chill.

“I can guess: I believe Commander Sendak and Prince Lotor have decided to come to blows. Earlier yesterday, I saw many ships belonging to the prince land further into low town. They’re going to fight it out here.”

Keith’s eyes widened. “What?! But they’ll destroy the town!”

“No, don’t worry. A friend and I laid lines across the town to prevent the use of blasters.” At Keith’s puzzled expression, he said: “Blasters, guns, ion canons, they all use electromagnetic impulses to fire. We have found a way to neutralize those. It’s a bit complex, I’m afraid.”

Keith’s mind reeled from this. He understood enough of basic physics to know what Sven was talking about wasn’t simple stuff. Who the hell was this guy who could neutralize blasters while taking out a handful of Galras without breaking a sweat? He’d said he wasn’t a policeman, that didn’t mean he was being honest. Perhaps he was a rogue officer or a deserter, which would explain why he was on the run from the Galras too.

“So that’s why the Galras weren’t shooting at us with guns,” Keith said. “Sendak and Lotor are going to dish it out with batons and sticks and knives then?”

Sven shrugged. “I suppose. Low town is relatively safe until they figure out how to destroy what we built.”

“Who’s _we_?”

“I don’t think I can divulge that kind of information yet.”

Keith gritted his teeth. “Fine, whatever. I don’t want to be part of this anyway.”

Sven didn’t say anything. Keith could feel his eyes on him, observing him like he was some sort of weird bug. The silence between them wasn’t comfortable. It felt like Sven wanted to talk without knowing what to say. Keith supposed the guy wanted to hit on him—he was simply too shy to do so. It might have been cute in a different situation.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what Sven had just told him: that Lotor and Sendak wanted to fight it out in _low town_. Was this why the bridge had been closed? To protect the people of upper town? Even if they couldn’t use their guns to blow each other into smithereens, the civilians could still be harmed. No doubt both belligerent would commandeer a corner of the town and attack each other in the middle. What the hell were they thinking, behaving like that? Why weren’t they facing each other in space, where the Galra had reigned for centuries? It didn’t make sense. Lotor had proclaimed being behind the people of low town so why was he allowing this to happen? The bastard was probably a windbag—Keith shouldn’t be surprised that he’d rather protect the upper towners.

“Keith, can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“How old are you? Do you have children?”

Those were totally not the questions he expected. Normally, people who asked his age wanted to make sure he was legal to jump in bed with.

“Uh, I’m twenty-three. And no, I don’t have children. Why in hell do you want to know that?”

“Just asking.”

The guy sounded _disappointed_ for some reason.

“You seem to know about what Lotor and Sendak are doing. Are you a spy or something? Do you know where they’ll establish their base? I want to be sure my friends won’t be in harm’s way.”

“No, I’m not a spy. And your friends will be fine—your house isn’t in—”

“How the fuck do you know where my house is?!” Keith demanded. He took his knife. “Are you some stalker or something?”

“No!” This time, Sven sounded hurt. “I just… I… I’m looking out for you, that’s all.”

“For me? I don’t know you. How do you know me?”

“I, erm, we have mutual acquaintances.”

“What kind of bloody cryptic answer is that?! Look, I’m getting out of here, okay? Thanks for saving me, but you’re creepy as hell. Stay back!” he hissed, waving his knife in front of him when Sven took a step towards him. “I’ll gut you!”

The day had to be rising because Keith could distinguish Sven’s features better. He looked hurt, pained, torn between choices. Keith didn’t lower the knife, didn’t avert his eyes. Sven’s aura didn’t ooze danger or violence, but only a fool wouldn’t be careful. This guy had taken down a lot of Galras at the same time—no doubt he could break Keith in half without trying.

“I’m sorry,” Sven said. “I can’t tell you more. I swear I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Who are those acquaintances we have in common? I can count my friends on the fingers of one hand and I’m pretty sure none of them know you.”

Sven’s lips pressed together. “I can’t say.”

“Well, then, I can’t _stay_. Stay there and don’t try following me.”

“Da— _Keith_ , it’s dangerous out there. I told you—there are patrols around.”

“I’ll evade them. I can handle myself just fine.” Keith took a step back. “That’s it, good boy. Don’t move.”

Whatever he’d said made Sven look even more hurt. The kicked puppy expression reminded Keith so much of Shiro that he faltered. This wasn’t fair—this guy looked too much like Shiro. How was that possible? When Lance had asked him if Shiro had a brother, he’d—

Light dawned on Keith.

“Wait, you’re the guy who brought the drug stuff back to Lance, aren’t you?”

Sven hesitated before nodding. “Yes. I swear it’s not because I’m stalking you!” he added hurriedly. “I just know… _things_. I’ve been keeping an eye on what’s happening around.”

He winced, as if embarrassed by what he was saying. Keith knew he was lying. He’d just met the guy and yet he _knew_ deep in his bones that Sven wasn’t telling the truth.

It was just too much for one evening. Keith suddenly felt bone-weary. The nightmare, then being attacked by the Galras, then being told that his part of town would become a battlefield, and then this? It was too much. He should have stayed home, should have cuddled with Lance rather than go out to clear his head.

Sven looked at him worriedly. Keith ignored him, sat down with his back against one wall, and told the other to tell him once the coast was clear. He shook slightly as the cold settled in his bones and the rest of the adrenaline washed out of his body. He rubbed his aching face—his jaw hurt like hell. The mere brush of his fingers made him wince. It was lucky he had no beard to shave yet or he wouldn’t be able to do so for days. Carefully, he removed his boot to inspect his ankle. Just like his jaw, it hurt to touch. Nothing seemed out of place, thankfully. It was nothing a bit of ice wouldn’t fix. He closed his eyes after putting his boot back, trying not to think about the fact that his life was about to be turned around once more. How often had this happened during the past few months? Shit, ever since Lance had had that brilliant idea about the Arts, it seemed as if Keith’s life had been turned topsy-turvy. The turf fight at the Fightdome, the ensuing encounter with Allura and her people, acquiring the plant to mass-produce the Arts, Emperor Zarkon’s death, his encounter with James, the explosion that destroyed the mines and the subsequent move of Allura and Fala into their apartment, meeting Wor, his confession to Shiro over the phone, his retiring from the prostitution business, Panchito’s murder, the adoption of Panchito’s daughter Katarzyna, and now this? Keith didn’t like change—he liked when things were stable. For years everything had been the same. With the feud between Lotor and Sendak at their door, he wasn’t sure he’d be alive next year to see whether things went back to normal.

His thoughts went fuzzy for a while. A light touch on his shoulder made him jump. Heart kick-starting, Keith looked around, totally confused about his surroundings. It took his brain a couple of seconds to remind him of where he was. Holy shit, had he just dozed off? He straightened from his slouch. There was a black coat draped over his shoulders. Sven sat a few feet away, busily fiddling with something on his lap. He wore only a tight, short-sleeved shirt and didn’t seem much bothered by the chill. Keith couldn’t believe he’d let his guard down around a bloke he’d met just yesterday. It was as if he’d known Sven wouldn’t hurt him.

In the light of the dawning day, Keith got his first good look at the other man. The resemblance to Shiro was less jarring now that he saw him better. The build wasn’t that similar—Sven was simply big. His hair was jet black, cut raggedly as if he couldn’t be bothered to visit the barber once in a while. His jaw was square, exactly like Shiro’s, but the rest of his features were softer. As he worked on reassembling whatever it was he’d unmade, Keith noted that his fingers were long and oddly delicate for such a big man. He had the build of a fighter without being overly bulky. There was a rough edge to him, an awareness of his surroundings like he was used to fight for his life. The clothes he wore were utterly practical—black, padded, adjusted not to hinder movements. He had a knife strapped to his thigh, its hilt wrapped in a leather thong, and, judging by the bumps under his garments, many other concealed weapons.

He was also quite handsome, Keith had to admit.

“You’re up,” Sven said when he noticed Keith looking at him.

“Yeah. I kind of dozed off. Are the Galra patrols gone?”

“Yes. We can go now. I can walk you home if you’d like.”

There was a note of hope in his voice. Keith didn’t know what to make of this. He was used to guys _wanting_ him, lusting after him, yet this wasn’t what he was reading in Sven’s behaviour. Sven acted as if he genuinely cared about his wellbeing rather than acting like he wanted to get into his pants. He wasn’t a good actor—Keith knew how to see beyond lies. Either Sven was simply a genuinely good guy or there was something he wasn’t telling Keith. For some reason, he leaned towards the second option.

Still, a part of himself chafed at the thought of being escorted home like some defenseless princess. He hated when people felt they had to take care of him. Sven had seen him kick asses last night, so why was he acting like he suddenly could no longer take care of himself? No, no, this wasn’t like it. Sven was being nice, he wasn’t being protective. It probably would be so much easier to refuse him if he didn’t look like Shiro.

Keith accepted the offer. He handed Sven back his jacket, missing the warmth already. For the first time, Sven gave him a quick onceover. It wasn’t crass, it just felt like he was assessing a situation, perhaps making sure Keith could stand properly on his hurting ankle. There was pain in his eyes anyway, not lust. This was so confusing.

Since Sven knew where he lived, it seemed pointless for them to part ways here. The streets were still eerily quiet as Keith made his way back home. He caught no sight of Galra patrols, but things were different without him being able to put his finger on exactly what had changed. He focused on trying to figure this out rather than on the pain in his ankle. Walking hurt like a bitch and his jaw throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He supposed he had to have a nasty bruise to go with the pain. That’s what he got for being an idiot and taking a walk in the middle of the night in a neighbourhood he knew to be unsafe.

Sven walked quietly, keeping a pace behind. He had the demeanour of a soldier, his whole body relaxed yet prompted for action. Keith found this somewhat intimidating and it made him wonder if Sven had lied about not being a policeman. He easily could have been part of the CTAC, what with his fight skills and the small arsenal he carried on his person. He’d said that blasters had been rendered useless, yet Keith thought he’d seen the grip of a gun hidden under his shirt. Shit, he shouldn’t be so curious about a bloke he’d probably never see again. Sven had just been there at the right time at the right moment, let’s leave it at that.

When his apartment building was in sight, Keith turned to look at Sven. Sven stood there, feet slightly apart and hands behind his back. Like a true soldier awaiting orders.

“Well, thanks,” Keith said because, really, Sven had saved his life last night.

“There’s no need to thank me. I was glad to be of help.”

“Do you often go to some stranger’s rescue?” Keith asked with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“Not really.” A pause. “Keith, perhaps it’d be best if you left town for a while. You shouldn’t be here when the fighting begins. You might get caught up in it.”

“Where do you want me to go? I can’t go to my friends in upper town since the bridge’s closed off.”

“That shack your father had in the desert. It’s safely—oh, crap. I’m not supposed to know about that.”

Keith’s blood ran cold. Only two people knew of this place: Shiro and Lance, and only Shiro knew exactly where it was situated. Sven’s face had paled. His shoulders were hunched as if uncertain of what to expect next. Keith didn’t know what to think of this. His brain refused to work properly, refused to make sense of this. Even if Sven had been a stalker, there was very little chance he’d know about the shack. Keith had visited there perhaps three or four times in the last decade and, hell, he’d have noticed someone following in the middle of the desert. Things didn’t add up. Sven was acting as if they knew each other. He was awkward, kind of shy, in a way a child would be with a family member they didn’t see often. Keith had seen this happen with Luis’ children when they’d first met.

“All right,” Keith said, taking in a deep breath. “Sven, I’m going to ask you a question and I need you to answer truthfully.”

Sven perked up. He towered over Keith yet his demeanour was almost submissive, trusting. If he were a dog he’d be baring his neck.

“Are you dangerous?”

“No,” Sven answered firmly. As if offended by the question, he stood straighter, broad shoulders thrown back. “No, I’m not dangerous, Keith. Not to you, not to your friends.”

They stared at each other for long seconds. Keith tried hard to read deceit in the other man’s dark eyes. There was no lie, no sign of cunning on his face. Sven was standing there, as open as he could get, allowing Keith to see inside him. He didn’t understand this, didn’t understand why he was mollified. Sven had said he wasn’t dangerous and Keith believed him implicitly. He remembered the way Sven had handled the Galras—if Sven had wanted him dead, he’d be dead. Keith was a pretty good martial artist, but he didn’t have Sven’s talent. The man fought like it was second nature to him, like he’d been fighting to survive all his life. And fighting _real_ fighters, not brawlers and enforcers like Keith had. If Sven wanted to kill him, there was little he could do to stop him. Yet nothing of the sort had happened. Keith had even fallen asleep in his presence. As far as he could tell, Sven had gotten close only to give him his jacket, not to slit his throat. Sven knew where he lived, could kill him easily, and he hadn’t done so. Did that mean he could be trusted, Keith didn’t know. There was no denying he was odd and his familiarity was unsettling. Still, what could Keith do?

“Okay,” Keith breathed. “I believe you.”

Sven smiled slightly. “Thank you, Keith. That’s all I ask for. I was honest when I said you shouldn’t stay in the city, though. It’s going to get dangerous.”

“I just can’t leave like that. I have a life here, people who depend on me. They aren’t all going to fit in that shack, believe me.”

“Then find Prince Lotor and stay with him. He’s going to establish his HQ further east, near the Neighbourhood 5-A, I believe.”

Keith chuckled. “Ah, no way am I hiding behind Lotor’s skirts!”

Sven blinked. “But he’s the good guy, da— _Keith_. We cannot let Commander Sendak take command of the Empire.”

“Jeez, do you really think I give a damn about the empire? I have enough on my plate already without having to worry about the Galra.”

“Do you know what quintessence is?”

“Yeah, Allura alluded to it. It’s the life force of everything. What’s that got to do with everything?”

Sven looked thoughtful for a moment, as if debating what to say. “The Galras harvest quintessence from the planets they conquer. They use it to power their ships, weapons, plants, everything. Planet Earth and the humans are a very good source of quintessence for many different reasons. In the near future, the Galras are going to start needing more and more of it, so they’re going to syphon Earth to its limits. Humans and every other species will be put into pens in facilities where their life force will be drained. The process is brutal. In a matter of months, the captured people die or they become so weak that they are executed. As a result of the same process, the environment will become hostile. Earth will slowly shrivel upon itself. Once it has been emptied of its quintessence, the Galras will move on.”

For some reason, the words struck a chord inside Keith. It was as if he’d read them somewhere, in a book, perhaps? That was unlikely—he no longer read much.

He looked at Sven, certain that the guy was joking. This way of talking had to be a joke. Yet Sven’s face was deadly serious, his black eyes unsmiling. He believed every word he had just said. He was certain this would happen, that the Galras would destroy the Earth and then move on. He talked as if he’d seen it happen.

Keith shook his head. This was way too much for this early morning, not after he’d nearly gotten his jaw torn off and his ankle crushed. And yet, he couldn’t dismiss the whole thing out of hand, not when this man he’d met a few hours ago knew stuff about him that nobody else knew. It was kind of creepy, kind of settling. Shit, hadn’t he known that getting involved with Allura and her ilk would get them only trouble?

“This… is a lot to take in,” he admitted.

“Yes, I understand. What matters now is that you get to safety.”

“You mentioned Lotor—is he really the good guy?”

“He’s the lesser of two evils. Commander Sendak winning this fight would hasten Earth’s demise. With Prince Lotor, we earn ourselves a few more breathing years.”

“Ah. And how do we save Earth?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see when we get there.”

“Right. Uh, okay.” Keith rubbed his forehead. “I got to go. I need to talk about this with Lance. And Allura. It might make sense to her.”

“Certainly.” Sven handed him a device looking a bit like a PDA. “You can contact me with this. The call will be untreatable.”

Keith took the PDA, slipping it next to his own in his pant pocket. If all this talk of doom was making him sick to his stomach, it was nothing compared to Sven’s apparent misery. Gone was the soldier persona. He once again looked like a lost puppy in need of a reassuring pat. And Keith _wanted_ to pat him. The urge startled him—he wasn’t a tactile person. He didn’t like touching others, not even his friends. Touches had never been innocent to him and he’d always been slightly afraid of what his might elicit in others. The only person he was fine touching without restraint was Katarzyna, probably because she was an infant and had no self-awareness. So why in hell did he feel like petting that grown-up man that had to be in his early thirties? Was this because he looked like Shiro so much?

Sven broke the silence with a question that stunned Keith. He wanted a hug. A _hug_. Just as the words were out of his mouth, he looked as if he wanted to call them back. His face flushed, his shoulders hunched, and he crossed his arms over his chest protectively. Even more stunning was the fact that Keith accepted without hesitation. Watching the expression shift on Sven’s face was like watching the sun appear from behind clouds. He took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Keith’s shoulders, pulling him tight against him. Keith found himself reciprocating the embrace, stunned at how natural it felt. Sven felt strong and solid and healthy beneath his hands, and this pleased him immensely. 

“I’m sorry for this,” Sven mumbled, taking a step back. He blinked rapidly. “I’ll leave you to it. Please, contact me as soon as possible.”

Before Keith had time to react, he was marching away down the street. Stunned, Keith looked down at his hands. A tiny part of himself screeched at him to call Sven back, to keep him close. The embrace had felt good. For some reason, it reminded him of the few times Adam and he had hugged. It had been… innocent, devoid of anything remotely perverted.

Shit. His brain was too sluggish to deal with this much confusion. He didn’t make sense in his own head. And to think he used to be smart—the fucking drugs had done a number on his intellect.

Just as he dragged his feet up the stairs, he remembered James was staying with them. Keith had planned to be back before both Lance and he were up to act as buffer. It was around seven now so there was a chance they were both up and at each other’s throat. He hoped Allura or Fala was around to play referee. What would he do with James if the situation with the bridge didn’t get better? He couldn’t keep the guy around for too long—James would refuse to spend another night on the couch. Furthermore, he had brought nothing with him—he only had the clothes on his back. Yet another problem to add to the pile.


	28. Chapter 28

To his great relief, he saw that only James was up when he came back. To his worry however, he saw that James was as white as milk as he stared at his PDA’s screen.

“Holy shit, what’s wrong?” Keith asked, dread squeezing his stomach.

“My father just texted me. He talked to Commander Sendak. The bridge’s closed until further notice.” He gulped. “He says he doesn’t think it’ll be reopened for months. He expects communications to be interrupted soon.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

James ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “I wish I were. I checked—telly’s no longer working. My connection to the IG is feeble—it keeps getting disconnected.” He looked up, eyes grim. “They’re cutting us off—oh. Keith, what happened to your face?”

Amidst all this turmoil, Keith had completely forgotten about his wounds. He touched his jaw gingerly, wincing. In light of James’ news, what had happened during the night seemed the more horrible. So, Sendak was trying to isolate low town, to turn it against Lotor. No PDAs, no IGs, how were they going to communicate with each other?

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, sitting down with a heavy sigh. “Just got into a fight. Never mind it.”

“You should be more careful of your face, Keith. It’s too pretty to get ruined.”

“You’ve gone some bloody nerves lecturing me about my face while you’re stuck here, at my mercy, Griffin.”

James paled. “Shit. Shit, Keith, what am I going to do? My father doesn’t want to ask Commander Sendak’s help in this. He said it’s my fault I got into trouble in the first place. I don’t even have a change of clothes…! I have work to do for school!”

“James, if you panic, I swear on my father’s grave that I’m gonna strangle you! Jeez, it’s going to be fine! I won’t throw you out to fend for yourself on the streets! Look, you’re bloody rich, just—” Keith waved a hand, “—I don’t know, buy yourself a house here or rent a flat. I’m sure you can afford to get clothes. We have stores that sell them here in low town, you know?”

“My father’s rich, I’m not.”

“Are you saying you don’t have a credit to your name?”

“No, I do! I just don’t know how long it’ll last me. I’ve transferred as much money as possible out of my shared account with my father to my private account, so at least that amount will be safe. And I have my credit cards.”

“See? You’ll be fine. I’ll help you find yourself a fully-furnished flat nearby.”

James’ mouth set in a firm line. “I don’t mind. I’d like you to live with me, though.”

“Why? You’re afraid you’ll get mugged in your own home?” Keith rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to live with you, James. I have my flat here.”

“I need to live with someone.”

“You’re too scared to live on your own? Seriously?”

James looked insulted. “Not at all! I just don’t know how things work here! I don’t know where to get food or clothes or where the distractions are!”

Keith leaned in, one eyebrow quirked. “You want me to live with you so I can walk you to the grocery store? We have those too, you know? We don’t grow our food in our backyard because we don’t have backyards. You’re acting like a damn spoiled brat.” He threw himself on the nearest chair. “I’m too tired to argue with you, anyway.”

“That’s what you get for spending the night out.”

“Oh, sorry, _daddy_ , was I out too late? Are you going to spank me?”

James’ face flushed. “D-Don’t call me that!”

“Why? You like that and there’s nobody around to hear.”

“Your bloody walls are fucking thin, Keith.”

Ah, that’s what this was about—James had heard Lance and him last night. Keith had suspected he would, he just hadn’t expected him to talk about it so readily. The polite thing to do would be to act as if he’d heard nothing, the exact same way Allura and Fala did. James didn’t care about politeness, not when he was pissed. Keith studied him, wondering what to say. Should he twist the knife further or should he apologize for their thoughtlessness? It was true, he was too tired to argue. He knew he couldn’t back down though, not with someone like James who took a mile when given an inch.

“I know they are.” He lowered his voice. “Did you get off to the sound of my moans, daddy? Is that why you are so cranky this morning?”

“You little slut—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Keith jumped to his feet and glared at the other. “You don’t get to call me names in my own home, you bastard!”

“What kind of messed up people have sex while they have a guest staying the night? Were you raised in a barn or something? I know you don’t have parents, but Álvarez does, doesn’t he? What did they teach him except for selling drugs?”

Keith hadn’t expected James to talk back. He’d gotten to his feet too and they stared at each other, teeth gritted. It was ridiculous. They were ridiculous. Two opposite forces were gathering around low town and they were busy arguing.

Keith decided he would be the bigger man. He pushed his annoyance down, smothering it as much as possible.

He took a step back and said: “I can’t live with you, James. Be sensible. I still need to work. Be honest, would you allow me to see my… lover?”

“If your _lover_ is rich, it means he lives in upper town. How are you going to see him if the bridge’s closed?”

Keith opened his mouth to answer. Closed it as realisation dawned on him. Holy shit, James was right—how was he going to be seeing Wor if the bridge was closed? He hadn’t thought about this. Shit. He took out his PDA to text him. Knowing Wor, he was nice enough to continue paying for his services even if they couldn’t meet. Keith knew he wouldn’t accept—this would feel too much like charity.

_[Keith] What are we going to do now that the bridge’s closed?_

_[No Network. Message not delivered.]_

He stared at the screen of his PDA in horror as the message flashed in bright, red letters. He tried sending it again, only to get the same message. No, no, was the network already down? He tried the IG—same message. Low town had truly been cut off. A sick feeling of despair settled at the bottom of Keith’s stomach. He couldn’t text Wor, couldn’t text Adam, couldn’t text Shiro. He couldn’t see them or talk to them. He was stuck here while they were on the other side. The north shore was visible from the south one, but it might as well have been in a different galaxy. With time, Keith had no doubt that someone would figure a way to cross the river in between. In the meantime, both sides were isolated, alone. He suddenly missed his friends from upper town. He should have visited more often, should have called.

Keith sat back down heavily, exhausted, dispirited. He threw his useless PDA on the coffee table. “Fucking hell.”

Either James took pity or he was feeling the same way because he didn’t gloat, didn’t press his point home. He just sat too. The paleness of his face made the bruise on his nose stand out sharply.

When Lance got up, Katarzyna in his arms, he found them sitting there in silence, both brooding. In quick words, Keith explained to him what had happened overnight. He also included what he’d seen during his walk and his cryptic meeting with Sven. Lance wasn’t a morning person. Normally, he wouldn’t have listened to such a complicated tale so early. This time, he did. His sleepy eyes cleared. He looked at his own PDA, hardly able to believe that the network linking all of Neo-Metropolis was actually down. Just like Keith’s, his device couldn’t connect to anything. Lance might not have friends on the other side of the bridge, he still understood what this all meant. Keith found it kind of reassuring that he focused more on the fact that he could no longer text than on Sven’s speech of impending doom.

“Keith, you should put ice on your face and try to rest,” Lance said gently. He rocked Katarzyna in his arms as she whimpered. “I’ll go out and try to gather some information.”

“No. It might be dangerous out, Lance.”

“I can’t just stay here doing nothing! I need to make sure my parents are all right.” Lance pulled a face. “We’re going to be doing a lot of walking now that we can’t call each other.”

“What do you think about what Sven said? That we should seek out Lotor?”

“Wait,” James intervened, eyes wide. “Do you actually believe what that madman said?!”

Keith shrugged. “He knows stuff he shouldn’t know, and we can see that both Lotor and Sendak are making a move against each other.”

“But you can’t side with _Lotor_!” James’ gave the prince’s name a disgusted twist.

“I don’t want to side with anyone, but so far, it’s Sendak’s guys that attacked me out there. Sven said that Lotor’s the lesser of two evils.”

“Do you really think the Galras would do that, siphon that quintessence stuff until the planet dies? It’s utter madness! Come on, Keith, don’t be so gullible.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lance interrupted. “We need to deal with what we have right now. Clearly, Lotor’s on the side of low town. He likes Allura and Allura’s our friend, so we might be safer with him in the short run.”

James spluttered. “B-but, but my father said—”

“Your father’s a corrupt lawyer who managed to get a mass murderer a free pass out of prison!” Lance exclaimed. “Grow a damn backbone, Griffin, and start thinking for yourself!”

Sensing the tension in the room, Katarzyna burst into tears. Lance immediately calmed down, shifting his hold on her so he could look into her face. He cooed at her, shushing her until she began to calm down. Keith watched and couldn’t help thinking how much of a good father this guy was going to be. He almost envied the girl who was going to snag him.

“I need to get some air,” James said, getting to his feet abruptly.

He grabbed his coat and was out the door before Keith and Lance had a chance to say anything. Keith didn’t go after him—he understood dimly what the other might be going through. James was stuck in a place he hated with people he mistrusted. His father had all but abandoned him and he’d just been told he was in the middle of a small-scaled war that might affect the whole of the universe. This much uncertainty couldn’t be easy for a man whose life had been charted the second he was born, a man who’d only known safety since childhood. James was in for a rude awakening.

Allura and Fala got up not long after. Judging by their wary expressions, they’d heard everything. The four of them sat in the living room while Katarzyna slept on, blissfully unaware of what was happening around her. Keith realised as they all looked at Allura that _she_ was going to decide what their next move would be. Lance would follow her to the confines of the universe and Keith, well, Keith would follow him. He kept forgetting that Allura wasn’t like James—that despite her poised, calm behaviour, she had known hardships for most of her life. She’d been a prisoner of Emperor Zarkon, nothing short of a slave in his mines. She wasn’t a pampered little girl who was seeing the world for the first time. She was _centuries_ old, for heaven’s sake, an idea Keith still had trouble wrapping his head around. She had been a leader in the mines. Throughout their weeks of acquaintanceship and despite—or perhaps because of—their rocky start, Keith had grown to respect her. She had recounted small parts of her life in those tunnels, making them see who she truly was. She was a princess not only in name. She had been the guiding light of those Alteans and Balmarans, the one who took it upon herself to protect them, demand a better treatment, ask for medicines when they were sick and nursed them back to health when they got hurt. There was a maturity to her that was difficult to guess at because of her youthful appearance. She had seen hell and had been shaped by its fires. Her ordeals had turned her into a surprisingly adaptable, understanding young woman. Her dislikes of every Galra had been tempered—she’d apologized to Keith for her earlier treatment of him, saying that he was proof that not all Galra was the same. Keith could respect that.

It was why he didn’t fear entrusting the decision about what to do next to her. For himself, he had no idea what to do. He knew he couldn’t just sit on his hands. Low town would become a battlefield. It didn’t matter that Sven said their flat was out of the danger zone—they couldn’t cower in here. They had no idea how long this would last. They had no idea that their house would remain safe for long. Once the fighting started in earnest, there was no telling how the low towners would react. Keith had never known war, so he was inclined to believe Allura when she said she knew how things would be. Nowhere would be safe. Just like everywhere else, the low towners would fight to keep their meagre possessions safe. Just like everywhere else, they’d also try to gain something from this war. The low towners were nothing if they weren’t adaptable. They were a people and aliens who had learned to survive against all odds. Once the fighting began, they’d take a side and hate those on the other side. They’d loot and kill and steal as much as possible in hopes of coming out of this madness on top. It was survival, it was in the nature of every living thing to want to survive. Barred doors wouldn’t stop anyone from entry. Nobody would care about property or propriety. It would be a free for all where only the strongest or smartest would survive.

Judging by Allura’s determined expression, she intended for them to be amongst the survivors. She looked at them in turn and Keith almost _physically_ felt her gaze on him. She was claiming them, making them hers. In their small group, Keith and Lance had alternated been the leaders. Now, they were both glad to hand that title to Allura.


	29. Chapter 29

Prince Lotor had made his HQ of an old, abandoned plant at the other end of low town. Keith had been there a few times before and he wouldn’t have recognized the place. In one night, the buildings around the plant had been razed to leave a large, empty circle around it. All around it, the streets leading to the HQ were filled with people in armour, most of them Galra half-breeds who had fled to Lotor years ago. They were professionals—it wasn’t their first rodeo. As soon as Keith approached with Allura, they were stopped, harshly questioned, and then frisked without kindness. Lance had wanted to come, but Keith had told him to stay home with Katarzyna, Fala, and James. Keith would be safe because he was half-Galra and Allura was a known face amongst Lotor’s entourage.

The female Galra frisking him took his knife from its sheath at his back and looked at it for a long moment. Just like the rest of them, she wore what passed for armour amongst their ranks: a tight bodysuit, breastplate, and reinforced Kevlar at vital points. She wasn’t wearing a helmet so Keith could read her surprised expression as she looked at his knife. As he had expected, she didn’t question it. She handed it back. In the meantime, Allura was talking with the person in charge of this group, asking to be brought to Lotor. The woman (Lotor really liked to surround himself with female Galras apparently) was nodding. She had a sword at her waist. A _sword_. Keith didn’t think he’d ever seen this outside of a movie. Apparently, Sven had been right when he’d said blasters wouldn’t be of any use. Perhaps Keith had a chance to survive with only his knife, then.

Their identity checked out. A person of indeterminate gender took them deeper into the fortified maze of alleys. They passed through two checkpoints where they were once again frisked and questioned despite their escort. Finally, they crossed the no-man’s-land. The ground was pitted, uneven, covered in rubbles that shifted underfoot. Keith guessed this place had been cleared of all buildings so as to leave a clear line of sight from the HQ, and to make it impossible so sneak in unseen. As he looked around, he felt disconnected of all this, out of place. For a moment, he saw himself as if from up high, walking behind Allura and their guide. This felt unreal, like he was an actor in a bad action movie.

Allura touched his elbow, smiled reassuringly, and Keith felt somewhat better. He squared his shoulders—he’d promise Lance to keep her safe, so he would.

Once inside the HQ, Keith saw that the plant had, just like the ground around, already been transformed. Nearly every partition wall had been torn down, leaving a large, open room. It was filled with people milling about, talking, looking at maps on holoscreens and discussing around tables. One wall had been outfitted with racks filled with prehistoric-looking weapons—all sorts of blades, swords, batons, axes, lances, and what appeared to be _bows_. On the walkway that hugged the four walls, lookouts stood to attention, their eyes fixed out the windows. All of them had been equipped with longbows. Keith marvelled at the scene, unable to take it all in at the same moment. It was so… anachronistic. He couldn’t find a better word to explain the whole thing—aliens of all shapes and colours holding weapons out of some fantasy storybook. Surreal.

Standing in the middle of it all like the eye of the storm was Prince Lotor. Unsurprisingly, all his attendants were females. They clustered around him as he spoke, listening intently, taking notes, offering comments and ideas. Keith, Allura, and their guide remained a few steps back, waiting to be noticed. Lotor appeared to know what he was doing—he directed people right and left, issuing orders like he was born to do. He was brisk without being impolite, face set in a serious expression. When his eyes alighted on Allura, his features shifted instantly. His mouth was pulled up in a smile and his whole demeanour brightened. Those around him turned, wanting to see what had caught his attention.

“Princess Allura!” Lotor exclaimed, sounding as delighted as he looked. He came to them, arms opened wide. “You’re a sight for sore eyes indeed!”

To her surprise, he embraced her. She looked mildly putout, but not too uncomfortable so Keith didn’t intervene. He contented himself with observing, knowing this wasn’t his place to talk. Around them, the buzz of conversation started again, once again proving these people were professionals. They could go on without their leader hovering or telling them what to do. He didn’t know what to do with himself as he waited. He was too far to hear the conversation so he couldn’t distract himself with what was being said. He felt out of place—only Allura and he weren’t dressed in armour. It was fine with Allura because she’d donned her prettiest dress and managed to look dashing despite its obvious wear. It made Keith feel oddly naked to be wearing only jeans and a jacket, as if he had no place here. Every Galra towered over him by several inches and two-third of them had to be women. His presence felt more like Allura bringing her cute puppy to cuddle with rather than her mean wolf to guard her back.

Cute puppy. He scowled at the thought.

One of the Galras was staring at him intently. He stared back at her, showing he wasn’t impressed. It took him a moment to recognize her as one of the women who’d been with Lotor when he’d visited his apartment a few weeks back. She’d looked at him with the same intensity then, he remembered.

She decided to approach him and extended one hand, as if in greeting. “Hi. I’m the head of Prince Lotor’s security detachment. My name is Krolia.”

Not knowing what else to do, he shook her hand. “Keith. Nice to see you again.”

“Have you come to join the fight?”

He shrugged one shoulder before gesturing towards Allura. “I’m with her. I go where she goes.”

Krolia glanced towards Lotor and Allura who seemed deep in conversation. Just like everybody else, she was wearing armour and had a sword slung through her belt at her waist. He couldn’t tell whether she was a full Galra or a half-breed—her features weren’t as animalistic as those of a full-blooded Galra, yet she didn’t feel like a half-breed either. Ever since he’d discovered he had Galran blood, Keith had forced himself to notice them more. He’d wondered if he found the male Galrans attractive—it was hard to tell. He wasn’t used to their appearance since they didn’t visit low town much. This woman was pretty, he supposed. She was tall and lean, her body rippling with lithe muscles. Her features were regular, soft, her nose oddly turned up. Her skin was lilac and her hair purple, cut short to fall just beneath her pointed ears. She had one line on each cheek of a darker colour, the shape of them resembling Keith’s scar on his own cheek. She had an authoritative air about her, like she was used to be in charge.

There was no meanness to her gaze as she studied him. Her expression was undecipherable, a stony mask, the kind Keith knew how to use well to hide his thoughts.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? Things might get dangerous,” she said.

“I can handle myself.”

She nodded at that, like she believed him entirely. Although the conversation dried out, she didn’t move from his side. Together, they watched while Lotor and Allura conversed. The amicable tone had gone—Allura was frowning deeply, her lips pulled tight in a disapproving line. Lotor appeared to be trying to convince her of something. Keith took a step closer and Krolia followed. She was protecting Lotor, he guessed, much as he was protecting Allura. He looked at the Galran woman, unsure he could take her down should the need arise. If he had Galra blood in his veins, why was he so damn short?

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Allura beckoned him closer.

Her brown skin flushed in annoyance as she said: “Prince Lotor requires Altean help to win this. He believes our magic may turn the tide.”

“Ah. You want us to gather the Alteans?”

She nodded. “Yes. I believe most of us will want to help. Of course, everybody will be free to join or refuse to do so. Prince Lotor also believes that your knowledge of low town might come in handy.”

Keith’s eyebrows rose. “What?”

Lotor said: “That’s right. We have no idea where Sendak’s forces are hiding. Since we cannot use any ordinary reconnaissance material, we are going to have to improvise. The low towners are favourable to my cause, I’ve heard, but Allura speaks highest of you, Keith. If I were to gather a small team together, would you be able to lead them?”

This was so random that Keith looked at Allura, eyes wide. “What, why? I mean, no. I’m not a leader. I’m here as Allura’s escort, that’s all.”

“She tells me you’re a strong fighter.” Lotor smiled humorlessly. “Which is understandable since you are half-Galra.” His face grew serious. “This is not a joke, Keith. I need someone who knows low town like the back of his hand to lead a team. I can explain the specifics later if you accept this mission, but I have objects I need placed at very specific places in the town. I also need to reconnoitre the likeliest emplacements for Sendak’s own base of operations and the disposition of his troops. Normally, I’d use drones, but there’s something interfering with our equipment. We have no means of communicating amongst ourselves either. Allura also tells me you are friends with an engineer. I’d like to be put in contact with him as soon as possible—I’d like a particle barrier erected around our HQ.”

Keith understood he had kind of volunteered for this, he didn’t like Allura involving Hunk or any other of their friends in this. She looked at him, not pleadingly, her eyes firm. She knew what she was doing, he had to remind himself. She was smart and kind, she wouldn’t put them in harm’s way. And he did know low town like the back of his hand. And Hunk would surely love building a particle barrier.

“I only have one condition,” Keith said. Lotor quirked an eyebrow but gestured at him to continue. “I want my friends to be kept secure here.”

“How many people are we talking about?”

Keith counted on his fingers: “Lance, James, Fala, Lance’s parents, Marco, Luis, Luis’s wife and children, Veronica, and Katarzyna who’s an infant.”

Lotor didn’t look amused. “This isn’t a nursery—this is the headquarters of my operation. I cannot have children running about.”

“Katarzyna’s an infant so she won’t do much running. The other kids are manageable. It’s my price. You could ask someone else, but you don’t know if they can be trusted. You have Allura’s word that I can.”

Lotor didn’t reply, his yellow eyes boring into his. Keith didn’t relent, didn’t look away. Internally, he was panicking. Was this the right thing to be doing? Was he putting his friends into harm’s way rather than protecting them? He couldn’t tell—he didn’t have time to think. This was all happening too fast. He hadn’t expected to be asked to do anything, at least not yet. He wasn’t even sure what exactly Lotor was asking of him. Lead people somewhere?

Finally, Lotor sighed. “Well, I suppose this is a small price to pay to have someone loyal at my beck and call.”

“Lotor,” Allura chided, “Keith isn’t at your beck and call.”

“It’s true, I apologize.” Lotor smiled, turning the full force of his charm on him. “Very well, then. Welcome, Keith. I’m glad to be working with someone Allura speaks so highly of.”

-

Convincing Lance’s family to move in the HQ wasn’t easy. The full blown panic had yet to settle completely over low town, but it was getting there. Shops had been closed and barricaded. Those who could leave did and those who couldn’t tried to find places to hide. Allura and Fala spent hours going after the Alteans, rallying them to their cause one by one. Keith had to convince Lance who then had to convince his family. Of course, even James had to make things difficult.

By the end of the afternoon, Keith was so exhausted he’d have sit down on the sidewalk if the pavement hadn’t been so cold. The block had an air of abandonment that made his heart ache. The place looked desolate already, like all its life force had been sucked out. Was the world Sven had talked about to be like that? Cold, empty, lifeless?

Lance and he had agreed that they wouldn’t move in with the others just right now. They had stuff in their flat they had to dispose of first—drugs and money and illegal alcohol that might cause problem if they were discovered. They’d hide it in one of their safe places and then rejoin the rest of the group. In a couple of days at most, they’d be living at Lotor’s HQ amongst dozens of Galra half-breeds and Alteans. The prospect daunted Keith. Living with four other people had been hell, so what would it be like to live crammed cheek to jowl with folk he didn’t know? Still, whether a good or bad idea, at least they would be safe. With so many of Lotor’s soldiers around, the HQ had to be the safest place to be in low town at the moment.

Leaning against the brick façade of some restaurant, Keith looked down at his PDA. Still no network connection. All day he’d tried sending texts to Wor, Adam, and even Shiro to no avail. Every time he got the message that the text couldn’t be sent. The same thing happened when he tried to connect to the IG. Nothing worked. It made him feel oddly isolated. Hell, it made him miss Adam. Now that he couldn’t reach him, Keith felt the urge to talk to him, to hear his no-nonsense voice, to be reassured that he was doing the right thing. Belatedly, he realised just how safe it had made him feel to know that Adam was just a phone call away. How long before it was all fixed? All long before he could talk to him again, _see_ him again? And Shiro, oh, damn, did he want to talk to Shiro right now. Even if their conversation was about his confession and Shiro told him he wasn’t interested, Keith would have been happy. He had waited too long and now he might have lost the other forever. That was the cost of being a coward.

Disgruntled, cold, Keith decided it was time to go home. Allura and Fala wouldn’t be back and he’d be on his own with Lance since his mother had agreed to take care of Katarzyna in their absence. The thought warmed him a little. It seemed like a lifetime since they’d been on their own.

Head lowered, eyes glued on the pavement, Keith never saw the man walking toward him and smacked into him. He would have fallen on his ass if the guy hadn’t been quick enough to grab him. Feeling stupid, Keith looked up, ready to apologize. The words died on his tongue. Familiar dark brown eyes stared back at him, reflecting his own surprise.

Shiro.

This was Shiro standing there with one hand on his shoulder. He looked as stunned to see Keith as Keith did at seeing him. Heat rushed to his face as he suddenly remembered his confession. His thoughts halted, making it impossible for him to utter anything, not even a greeting. Shiro was so there, so _real_ that it left Keith reeling. He’d been thinking about him a few minutes ago and now, here he was, as if the strength of his need had made him appear.

“K-Keith,” Shiro stammered, eyes wide. He took a step back. “It’s you.”

“Uh, yeah. Hi, Shiro.”

Yet Shiro kept staring at him with amazement as if Keith had done something great. His dark eyes took him in from head to toe, his expression shifting minutely. Keith had no idea what was going on through his mind. They had to look like two morons standing there staring at each other.

“You look good,” Shiro mumbled.

There was wonder in his voice. Sure, they hadn’t seen each other for weeks, but Keith had certainly not changed in such a short lapse of time? He felt oddly self-conscious of his messy hair and old, shapeless jacket. To distract himself, he covertly observed the other from beneath his lashes. Shiro wasn’t wearing his policeman uniform for once. His clothing wasn’t casual—he looked dressed for action, like he was expecting to fight his way out of trouble. His pants were tight and tucked into steel-toed boots. His jacket fitted him like a glove, hugging the curves of his muscles like a second skin. He looked healthy and hale.

“Ah, what are you doing here?” Keith asked. “The bridge’s closed.”

“I know. I came with Prince Lotor.”

“What do you mean?”

Shiro paused, looking as if he were trying to remember something. “I want to side with him. I think he should be the next emperor.”

This was unexpected. Not only was Shiro an upper towner, he’d also been working under Commander Sendak for years. Keith had always assumed he’d side with Sendak out of some sense of duty.

“Is Matt with you? Is the DEA siding with Lotor too?”

“No. I’m afraid I’m the only one who defected. Matt and his father don’t want to take sides. I think Chief Holt will retire and Matt’s out on sick leave.” Shiro pulled a face. “Commander Sendak is probably happy to have them out of his hair.”

This was a relief—Keith had no idea what he would have done if he’d met either Shiro or Matt when their sides clashed.

They stood there in an awkward silence that hurt Keith’s heart. Was it because of his confession? There had never been awkwardness between them before. He’d always found it so easy to be Shiro. They had connected easily on so many levels. Keith didn’t want that connection to be gone, especially not because of his stupid feelings. Should he address the message? Should he apologize for it? A tiny bit of himself was wounded that Shiro had never replied—either positively or negatively. There had been total radio silence on his end, leaving Keith to stew in his misery and uncertainty. Would it be better to leave it unmentioned at least until Shiro mentioned it? Or would Shiro let this lie in hopes it would go away? No option seemed optimal.

“I should get going,” Shiro said finally. He offered a genuine smile. “We’ll see each other often now, won’t we?”

The smile melted Keith’s frozen insides. He felt its warmth like the caress of the sun on his face. “Yeah, we will. I’m glad. I’ve been missing you.”

“I’ve been missing you too, Keith.” Shiro pulled him into a hug. “It’s so nice seeing you after such a long time.”

Keith closed his eyes, leaned his cheek on Shiro’s strong shoulder. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply feel, to be reassured by the familiar, loving embrace. He’d thought he’d never have this again. He wrapped his arms around Shiro’s torso, pulling him closer. For a crazy moment, the urge to cry in relief nearly overwhelmed him. It was so random that he had to concentrate on keeping calm so he wouldn’t just burst into tears. He’d nearly lost this and there were no words to explain how relieved he was to have been wrong.

He pulled back first, face warm, and smiled at Shiro. “Are you staying at the HQ?”

“Y-yeah.” Shiro blinked, looking dazed. He looked down at his hands as they lingered on Keith’s waist for half a second longer, then he pulled them back hurriedly. “Are you?”

“Eventually. I have… a few things to see to back home before I can.”

“Is it safe?”

Keith shrugged. “Yeah, don’t worry. It’s just for a couple of days at most.”

“Okay, but remember to lock the door, Keith.”

He had to laugh at the seriousness in Shiro’s tone. “I will, Shiro! I’m not a kid, I can handle myself.”

“I know you’re not a kid.” He gave Keith a onceover as he said that before looking away hurriedly. “I better get going. See you, Keith.”

“See you, Shiro.”

Keith watched him walk away, a mix of dread and happiness mingling dizzily inside his guts. There had been an odd look in his eyes when he’d given him that onceover that Keith couldn’t quite interpret. Had it been approval? Keith looked down at himself—maybe Shiro approved of his relatively modest clothing. Call it an occupational hazard, but Keith always tried to dress to his advantage. He knew what his assets were and he knew how to outline them. Tight pants were aplenty in his wardrobe and he’d worn them even when he’d visited Shiro in upper town. Shiro had always done a pretty amazing job at _not_ looking. Keith had supposed it was shyness, but what if it had been disapproval? Or, hell, _shame_ that his little brother would flaunt himself like that? He’d opted for the sole pair of baggy pants he had today for the sake of ultimate comfort so maybe Shiro approved of this change. Why else would he have looked at Keith like that?

He made a mental note to try to get himself pants a few sizes bigger.

Still, Shiro hadn’t mentioned the confession and they seemed to be back on good terms, so Keith called this a win. He smiled stupidly as he made his way home, remembering the hug. They’d be seeing each other more now so maybe they’d hug again. He would like that.

Lance was already home and grumbling when Keith arrived. He’d piled their stash of illicit wares on the coffee table in the living room, looking at it with an annoyed curl to his lip. Cigarettes, drugs, some money, a gun, three stolen bottles of liquor, the kind of stuff that could get them into trouble if the police found it. It all had to go into hiding in case their flat was looted.

“I don’t like this,” Lance said for the hundredth time.

“Me neither, but it’s safer this way. Don’t be grumpy, Lance, it’s not like you. Let’s pack this. Tomorrow we’ll bury it.”

“I thought your cache under the shed was full.”

“Almost.”

Lance’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “How much money have you hidden there?”

Keith thought for a moment. “I’m not sure, I lost count.”

He didn’t trust banks with his money so, whenever he could, he’d squirrelled a bit away to hide it in a cache under the shed in the backyard. Paper bills were an annoyance, but at least they couldn’t be stolen by a hacker or rendered inaccessible in case the banking network crashed. As it had done with the rest of the IG, Keith thought grimly. He hoped it didn’t mean he’d lost all of his savings. He might cry for real if it had happened. He shook his head, refusing to think about it for the moment.

He removed his coat and sat on the couch, savouring the first moment of calm in what seemed like forever. Lance joined him a moment later, sighing in contentment as he rested his head on Keith’s lap. Lance looked tired, his face drawn and pale. Raising a child wasn’t easy and it was taking a toll on him. He still grieved for Uncle Pedro and Panchito. He didn’t seem to care that his uncle had planned to have him killed—he’d been family so he deserved to be mourned. Keith didn’t want to wake him from his delusions. A part of himself felt bad he was more or less responsible for Lance’s sadness—it was he who’d taken it upon himself to get rid of Uncle Pedro after all. He didn’t think Lance would take it kindly even if Keith had done it to protect him. Keith didn’t regret it in the least—he only regretted it had caused sadness to Lance and his mother. From what he’d gathered, Marco and Luis had been relieved. Marco had given him one hard look after the deed, as if he’d suspected Keith had something to do with it. Marco had always been the most perceptive of the three brothers so it wouldn’t be that surprising. He hadn’t brought it up and Keith was thankful because he didn’t know if he’d have been able to lie.

They basked in the silence for a long while. Keith combed his fingers through Lance’s short hair. It was like old time, when it had been only them and their drug business they had to worry about. Keith missed that time—he didn’t like being dragged into a war that had little to do with him. This was dangerous, this was unchartered terrain. Keith wasn’t a soldier and he didn’t like siding with people he barely knew. He still didn’t know whether he could trust Lotor or not. Sven had said that he was the lesser of two evils, that still didn’t make him a good person. If Shiro was siding with him however, Keith supposed that Lotor couldn’t be so bad. And maybe a war was exactly what was needed for Shiro and him to be on speaking terms again, who knew. He supposed the best thing to do for the moment was simply enjoy what time they had together.

He dozed, lulled to sleep by the silence and the sense of security brought by Lance’s closeness. Sleeping sitting up wasn’t that much comfortable and the pain in his neck woke him up. He groaned, massaging his neck while Lance mumbled at him to stop wriggling around so much. Keith realised the idiot had _drooled_ on his pant leg as he slept. He woke Lance up by shaking him by the shoulder, telling him to go to bed.

“I’m not tired,” Lance said while stifling a yawn. He blinked and sat up. “Besides, I got to finish clearing this up.”

They both looked at the coffee table. As if of a common accord, Lance reached for the expensive bottle of Cuban rum, twisted the cap off, and took a hefty swig while Keith took one of the cigarette packs and lit himself a cigarette. They sat back with a sigh as the smell of smoke slowly filled the room. They switched, Keith taking the bottle and Lance taking the cigarette. The fine liquor slid down Keith’s throat like smooth fire to settle in his empty stomach like a coal. How often had they done just that, sitting next to each other on this old couch to drink away the evening? It had been a ritual after a long day. They’d bask in each other’s presence and in the alcohol while they relaxed until it was time for bed.

Keith looked at his living room, wondering if he’d ever see it again once they left. The flat was old, decrepit, dirty. It was cold and the central heater barely worked. There had been little hot water to be had. The pipes had been clogged all the time. The faucet in the kitchen dripped relentlessly, the noise drowned by the whirring of the old fridge’s motor. The paint was chipped everywhere. The ceilings were covered in yellow humidity stains. The carpet was ratty, worn threadbare and the floor in the kitchen was stained from countless dropped plates. There were no windows, only rectangular holes in the walls that had been boarded over long before they rented the place. Yet it was home. Keith would miss it if it was no longer here after the war. He had been made whole again here. He had learned to be a better person, a better human being. It had been at Lance’s parents’ flat that he had detoxed, but it was here that he had decided to get his life in hand. It was stupid—he was getting emotional. Absentmindedly, he reached for Lance’s hand. The grip on his fingers told him that Lance’s own thoughts weren’t much different from his own.

Half the pack of cigarettes had been turned to smoke and most of the liquid in the bottle had disappeared by the time they got moving again. Lance tried to find a box to fit their wares into while Keith went into his bedroom to clean it out. He stood on the threshold, hands on hips, surveying the mess. Lotor had said they could bring one bag of their possessions only, so what was he supposed to pack? At the bottom of the closet he found the old, battered gym bag that had been with him ever since his father had died. Once, his whole life had fitted into it. He remembered being told by a social worker to pack his clothes into it, that he was moving to a place where they could take care of him. He refused to see the parallel with what he was doing right now. Things were different. He was no longer a terrified child of eight unsure what life had in store for him. He was an adult—he had friends and money and a place to go. So he packed a few changes of clothes, being careful to choose only the most decent. He had no knickknacks, no souvenirs of anything so at least he didn’t have to worry about those. He threw in his toothbrush, his hair brush, his favourite jacket, a towel, and his favourite blanket. Yes, he had a favourite blanket—it had been knitted by Lance’s mother so he’d be damned if he parted with it. He packed his laptop for the sole reason every videos and pictures he’d ever taken for his blog were on it—no way was he allowing it to fall into unknown hands. If the money situation got too desperate, he supposed he could sell it to James.

Putting the bag aside, Keith knelt on the floor to reach under the bed. He pulled out the box of what he’d come to call his _work stuff_. Toys of all sorts rattled inside as he rummaged through it, searching for the one thing that wasn’t work related. The piece of paper was at the bottom. He removed it carefully. The first time he’d seen it, he’d been more shocked by the sheer fact that people still printed receipts on paper than by the number written on it. He unfolded it. Gazed at the number. Winced as he did every time he saw it. Five years ago, almost to the day, he’d visited Adam. It hadn’t been long after their reconciliation after that huge fight between them. Keith had been on the mend, no longer a junkie, just a guy still thirty pounds too light who sometimes had cravings so bad in the middle of the night he’d nearly cry with it. He’d been somewhat ashamed of his appearance—too scrawny, hair too thin and brittle, skin grey, eyes sunken, his mouth a mess of bloody gums and loosened teeth that made it difficult to eat. Unthinkingly, Adam had given him an apple that Keith hadn’t been able to eat. Adam had taken one hard look at his disgusting mouth then dragged him to a dentist that took walk-ins. He’d instructed the dentist to fix his teeth. Keith had spent nearly five hours there—those teeth that had rotten had been removed and new ones put in their place. It had been fucking painful. No matter his efforts, tears had leaked from his eyes. After that, he’d taken a round of antibiotics and, then, voila, Keith now had perfect white teeth. Adam had paid for the whole thing without complaint.

Keith looked at the receipt. The amount was about what he paid in rent for six months. Adam had been able to pay it easily—knowing him, it had probably not even made a dent in his budget. He’d done it out the goodness of his heart, getting angry every time Keith talked about reimbursing him. He’d said that it was enough pay back that Keith could eat properly. Whether it was because of that or not, eating had become so much easier and Keith had been able to gain weight that much faster.

He still wanted to reimburse Adam, just to prove that he could. So he kept the receipt close as a reminder of how much he owed the man, emotionally and monetarily. Shit, he missed Adam, and the thought that he could no longer contact him at will made him despair. He took his PDA out—still no network connection. Maybe he should ask Sven for a way to make it work, if only for a few minutes, just to tell Adam he was all right. Knowing the man, he was worried sick about him, hiding it behind that chilly façade and hard eyes.

He put the piece of paper in his bag. What should he do with the rest of the items in the box? He frowned at the colourful array of toys. This was war, he surely wouldn’t have time to use any of them. Maybe a looter would find them and have fun with them, who knew. It was just too bad that he’d lose it all after spending so much money on it. Whatever—he took a bottle of lube and put it in his bag. For rainy days.

He was shoving the box back under the bed when he heard Lance shriek. Lance had an annoyingly loud voice that got almost girly whenever he screamed. His shriek of fright made Keith’s hairs stand on end. He got to his feet and ran to the living room, knife out, ready to stab the bastard who’d come in uninvited.

Except there was no intruder. There was Wor standing there by the coffee table while Lance sprawled on the carpet, eyes so wide they looked in danger of dropping of their sockets.

“Keith, help!” Lance screeched when he saw him. He ran on all fours and latched himself on Keith’s leg, shivering. “Holy shit, Keith! Do you see that?! T-that alien just appeared out of thin air! S-s-s-shit! We’re going to die!”

“It’s fine, Lance,” Keith assured, putting his hand on Lance’s head. “I know him.” He looked at Wor, one eyebrow cocked. “You sure know how to make an entrance.”

Wor gave a shrug. “I didn’t think there would be someone else with you. I apologize for startling your friend.”

Lance whimpered and hugged Keith’s leg tighter. “W-what are you talking about? How can you know that?”

“Lance, this is Wor. I mentioned him often. He’s nice. You can let go of my leg, he won’t hurt you.”

“I might hurt him if he continues touching your leg like that,” Wor said in a conversational tone.

Lance whimpered and Keith rolled his eyes. “There’s no need to be possessive. Lance, come on, unhand me. I told you it’s perfectly safe. Wor’s joking, he won’t hurt you.”

“He doesn’t look like the type of guy to joke,” Lance grumbled, finally letting go of Keith’s leg.

“I’m afraid my sense of humour might not be the kind you enjoy,” Wor said. “As I said, I’m sorry for startling you, Lance.”

To his credit, Lance did try to look more assured. He stood to his full height, squaring his shoulders. “Uh, it’s fine. I guess I’m not just used to… weird-looking aliens popping out of nowhere. So you’re, uh, Keith’s… benefactor.”

“That’s one delicate way to put things. Yes, that’s me. I’m glad to finally make your acquaintance. Keith has told me only good things about you.”

Lance managed to look flattered despite everything. He offered a weak grin. “That’s a relief. I’d probably be dead if he’d said I was mean to him, eh?”

“No. I’d have turned you into a mindless slave and brought you back to my planet where we would have worked you until you died, then we would have used your corpse as fuel or as food.”

Keith buried his face in his hands, trying not to laugh, as Lance gaped at Wor, uncertain whether this was a joke or not. Lance didn’t know the alien nearly enough to hear the teasing tone in his voice. It was kind of endearing to see him putting on a brave face, especially since he knew he had nothing to fear because he’d always been nice to Keith.

“Come on now, Wor, enough teasing. Lance doesn’t deserve that.” He went to Wor and grabbed his arm. “Let’s go to my room. I need to talk to you anyway.”

Lance gaped at them, eyes huge. It was as if he’d realised what Keith did with his _benefactor._ Keith had told him of Wor’s interesting… attributes and he had no trouble guessing Lance was thinking about that right now. It was kind of funny to see poor Lance reduced to stunned silence, he who never knew when to shut up.

“Your friend is quite interesting,” Wor said once they were in Keith’s room with the door closed behind them.

“Don’t torture him, Wor. He’s truly a nice person.”

“He’s slept with you.”

Keith rolled his eyes as he sat on his bed. “Yeah, he did. You’re not really going to be jealous of him, are you?”

“Perhaps a little bit. He has your affection, after all. Don’t worry, I understand the situation and I by no mean intend on hurting him. He is your friend.”

“You’ve been reading on human relationships again, haven’t you?”

“Yes. Your relationships are based on feelings, something I’m barely starting to understand. I believe I now grasp the different types of friendship.”

Keith couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “Then you’re better than a lot of humans!” He leaned back against the wall, arms folded. “So, how in hell did you get here? The bridge’s closed.”

“I can dematerialize. It is a bit difficult to do so over long distances, but it’s feasible. When I saw that communications with low town had been cut off, I knew I had to see you in person.”

“Yeah.” Keith hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to breech the subject of their association. "That means we can see each other.”

“Yes. I’m afraid it will be impossible for me to ask when it’s more convenient for you.” Wor spotted the packed bag resting on the floor. “You’re leaving?”

“I’m not going far—apparently, I’m working for Prince Lotor now.”

Wor remained silent for a moment, his expression as impossible to read as always. Keith watched him, finding it odd to have him here in his bedroom. Somehow, it felt more intimate than anything they’d share in the past.

“I see,” Wor said softly. “Darling, I hope you’re not putting yourself in harm’s way.”

Keith explained the situation to him, how Lotor had promised to keep his friends safe if he joined in the war effort. Wor listened, nodding. He understood without approving. He didn’t want Keith to put himself in danger, yet he knew Keith had to do his best to keep his friends safe.

“You know, now that I think of it, I’m sure Lotor would welcome your abilities to mindfuck people.”

Wor chuckled. “If the prince required my help, he would have asked. It is not in my habit to join in any conflict on the planets I visit. I have no stake in this. Whether Prince Lotor or Commander Sendak wins, Kaax'oits still has its treaty with the Galra Empire. Personally, I find Commander Sendak easier to deal with since he has such a narrow, predictable mind. I suppose I see the appeal of Prince Lotor—he is charismatic.”

“Oh, is that infatuation I hear in your voice, Wor?”

“For the prince? Hardly, darling. Don’t worry, your place won’t be usurped. You can side with him if you wish. I just don’t like the thought of you being in danger.”

Keith shrugged. “I’d be in danger even if I didn’t join any side. They’re going to fight it out in low town and that’s where I live. I might have gotten caught in the crossfire.”

“That’s true.” Wor looked around. “I recognise this place from your videos. What’s that, though?” He pointed at Katarzyna’s crib.

“Hm-hm. That’s my bedroom. And that’s Lance’s daughter’s crib. She sleeps here.”

“A daughter? He had a daughter with you? Keith, I believed it took a male and a female human to make a child.”

Keith’s eyes widened. “No! He didn’t have a daughter with me! He had her with a girl! Jeez, don’t say such terrifying things! The girl died so that’s why he’s raising her.”

“Oh. And here I thought everything I had read on human anatomy was wrong.”

“I don’t think so. Anyway, do you want to stay?”

“I’d love to, darling, but believe it or not, I actually have work to do. Although I wish it were, my main job is not to find pleasure with you.”

“Damn, and here I thought it was.” Keith got up and walked to Wor. “Are you sure you can’t stay, though? It’s been a while since I saw you.” He reached down to unbutton his own pants. “I’ve missed you.”

“Darling, you’re very convincing, but I really must go.” He gently touched Keith’s cheek. “I’ll see you in a few days if that’s all right with you.”

“I won’t be here in a few days,” Keith replied, pouting. He leaned into the touch, gazing up at the other through lowered lashes. “I’ll be busy waging war for Lotor.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find you wherever you are. Gosh, darling, you’re so very pretty when you look at me like that. It’s unfair—I really want to stay.”

“Then stay. Surely you can spare me five minutes.”

Wor chuckled, his hand leaving Keith’s skin. “Five minutes? My love, if I stay, it’s going to be for far longer than five minutes.” He took a step back. “Take care.”

And he was gone before Keith had time to open his mouth to protest.

Great, now he was horny.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning:  
> -Porn

Keith and Lance jumped in unison when there was a knock on the front door. They exchanged a similar look of _are you expecting someone_? and when the answer was clearly no, Keith got nervous. Very few people knew their address, and those who did always called ahead to let them know they were coming. You couldn’t be too cautious in their trade.

Lance looked ready to get off the couch to get the door, but Keith motioned at him to remain seated. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his dagger and went to the door, straining his ears at the same time. There seemed to be only one person on the other side, so he relaxed. Who he saw standing there on the threshold froze him on the spot.

“Shiro?!” he exclaimed, as if the man had just materialized there.

Shiro looked sheepish as he stood there, a little ill-at-ease. He shuffled his feet before smiling and saying: “Hey, Keith. I hope it’s not a bad time to drop by?”

Keith shook his head, a bit stunned. “N-no, not at all. Please, come in. And excuse the mess, we weren’t expecting anyone.”

Shiro did as he was told. The tiny corridor of the entryway was narrow and he had to brush pass Keith so Keith could close the door behind him. Keith’s face was hot as he tried to understand why Shiro was here. The man had never visited his home, not in all the years they’d known each other. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he’d ever told Shiro his address, not when their jobs and lives were so different to be like opposites. Still, he didn’t want to refuse the other man entry. His presence brought such a warmth to Keith’s chest that throwing him out was out of the question.

Lance gawked when he saw the tall policeman walk into his living room. He made an odd, tiny lunge towards the coffee table where illicit wares were clearly on display, swooping them into his arms in an attempt to hide them. Keith threw him a murderous look as Lance hurried out of the room, looking ridiculous in his pajamas and green facemask.

“Urgh, sorry about Lance,” Keith mumbled, embarrassed.

He was suddenly immensely glad he hadn’t changed into his pajamas yet—he’d have died of shame if Shiro had seen him dressed like that. He realised Shiro hadn’t even looked at Lance or at what had been exposed on the coffee table: his eyes were still on Keith, oddly intense. Keith felt self-conscious—he’d been eating a moment ago, was there something stuck between his teeth? Or something on his face? What the hell was going on? He was never nervous around Shiro, quite the opposite. He was one of the few persons Keith didn’t mind letting his guard down around. It had to be that intense look in his eyes: he was looking at Keith in a hot, unfamiliar way. Keith felt heat prickle at the back of his neck as he stared back, unsure what to make of this, unsure what to make of Shiro’s presence here so late in the evening.

“Look, uh, guys, I’m going to go, all right? I don’t want to be a witness to your eyefucking,” Lance said, loudly. When Keith threw him a questioning look, he rolled his eyes before grinning. “I’m sure that pretty girl Monica won’t mind having me for the night.”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro said, smiling gently at Lance. “I hope I’m not interrupting something. I can come back later if you want.”

Keith saw Lance literally wilt under Shiro’s smile. He almost felt pity for his friend: nobody could stay angry at Shiro when he smiled like that, like he had the warmth of the sun behind his face.

Lance (thankfully dressed and sans facemask), cleared his throat loudly. “I-it’s fine! As I said, there’s a girl dying for my embrace and who am I to deny her, eh? You two catch up and do whatever you want. Keith’ll take good care of you, mister Shirogane.”

Either not understanding the meaning or choosing not to, Shiro continued to smile beatifically at Lance who was rushing out the door. Keith kind of felt betrayed when the door slammed behind his friend. He wasn’t in control here and, although it was fine because this was Shiro, he did feel out of his depth. For some reason, having Shiro here, in his tiny, messy living room made him feel like an idiot. Shiro looked too big for the place, his head only a few inches from the ceiling.

“You can sit down,” Keith said, gesturing towards one of the two couches. “What brings you here? Did you need something?”

Shiro obeyed, sitting down on the couch Lance had vacated, his elbows resting on his knees. Now that he had a chance to study him better, Keith saw that his friend was looking tired. There was a tightness about the eyes and jaw that was uncharacteristic to Shiro, making him look tensed. His body wasn’t quite at ease, like he couldn’t relax completely. Was it the setting that was making him nervous? Keith’s mouth suddenly dried at a thought: what if Shiro had come here to arrest them? But no, that didn’t make sense, he hadn’t stopped Lance from leaving. Unless he had backup outside, ready to pluck Lance off the sidewalk the second he stepped out. Keith had to resist the urge to rush to the window to look.

“No, I just wanted to see you. If that’s all right with you, of course.”

Warmth suffused Keith’s chest at this. He couldn’t help smiling back at Shiro because, hell yes, that was all right with him. Ever since Shiro had come back from whatever ordeal had kept him away for two full years, he’d been distant. Always polite and always there when Keith needed him, there had been a distance in his eyes, in his demeanour, as if a part of himself had stayed over there, to that mysterious place he refused to talk about. Shiro hadn’t been the same since then, and Keith had feared that something had hurt him so deeply that he could no longer trust those around him. There were the PTSDs, of course, and the wounds he’d sustained and the loss of his right arm to take into account. Despite knowing this, Keith had felt a selfish pain at the thought that his friend no longer trusted him as before.

“Of course it’s all right,” Keith proclaimed, unable to stop himself from smiling. “You’re always welcome here. Would you like something to drink? I can make coffee if you like or—“

“Water would be fine. And something for headaches, if you have anything. My head’s killing me.”

As if to emphasize this, Shiro’s hands went to his temples to massage at them. Keith’s heart lurched at this, at this show of vulnerability. It was easy to forget that Shiro was simply human, that he’d gone through horrible things and that a lot was expected of him. Before he knew what he was doing, Keith stepped closer and put his hands over Shiro’s. Shiro looked up at him from his sitting position, slightly startled, but didn’t move away. Instead, he lowered his own hands to his lap while Keith gently massaged at his painful temples. Lance often got tension headaches, especially at stressful times, so Keith had become a pro at petting them away. He carded his fingers through Shiro’s short hair, applying pressure to the back of his skull, to his temples, and to the base of his neck. He did all of his unconsciously, carefully, and it wasn’t until he felt Shiro’s arms wrap around his waist that he became aware of how close they were. He’d stepped between Shiro’s spread knees, totally invading his bubble without even asking for permission first. His fingers stilled as his body tensed at the huge breach of etiquette. Although he knew Shiro was a very tactile person, that he liked to touch other people casually, rest his hand on their shoulder and even hug them, that didn’t mean he wanted to be touched back. Keith realised in that instant that he’d never actually willingly touched Shiro first, that he’d always only reacted to the hugs or handshakes.

He would have stepped back, embarrassed at his own boldness, if Shiro’s arms around his waist hadn’t prevented him from doing so. He’d thought Shiro might be surprised or discomforted by what had just happened. If he were however, it didn’t translate in his body language. He’d gone all soft under Keith’s hands, relaxing completely. He pulled Keith closer, close enough that he could rest his forehead on his chest. Keith froze on the spot. This was bad—Shiro could certainly hear his madly galloping heart. They had never been so close before. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t scary, but it was a lot to process. Keith’s feelings for Shiro were complicated. He hardly made sense of them half of the time. He thought he was in love with the man—hell, Adam _knew_ for certain Keith was in love with Shiro. This could be it, yet he didn’t know for certain because he’d never been in love with anyone before. All he knew for certain was that he’d do anything for Shiro, die for him if necessary, and that those two years separation from him had felt like a small death in itself.

Gently, hesitantly, Keith resumed his petting. His whole body was aware of the other man. He felt like an exposed wire, like all his nerves were on fire. He was acutely aware of the face pressed against his chest and the strong arms wrapped around his waist, of Shiro’s body heat and the smell of his shampoo. Emboldened, he let his fingers trail down the back of Shiro’s neck, feeling the bumps of his spine and the fabric of his shirt collar.

Shiro was the first one to pull back. The tension had left his face, leaving him looking more relaxed and at ease. His hands lingered for a second longer on Keith’s hips before settling back demurely on his lap. Keith stepped back, face hot. This had been nice, too nice, and it left his mind confused.

“Uh, do you still want some water?” he asked, glad that none of his inner turmoil transpired in his voice.

“Sure, if that’s not too much trouble.”

Keith shook his head and went to the kitchen, feeling Shiro’s eyes bore into his back. He had to get a grip on himself. It wasn’t like him to be left flustered by mere touches, not even Shiro’s. There was something different about the way Shiro looked at him that he couldn’t quite place. He thought back on their meeting yesterday when they’d stumbled upon each other randomly on the street of low town. Shiro had looked so surprised at seeing him that he’d stuttered. He’d acted as if they hadn’t seen each other for a long time. There had been something in Shiro’s eyes then too, in his flustered demeanour. Shiro had said that he looked _good_ while giving him a onceover. Keith hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, chalking it off to Shiro meaning he looked healthy. He couldn’t have meant more, right?

No, no, this was ridiculous. Angrily, Keith took the pitcher of water from the fridge and set it down on the counter. Shiro had meant nothing by it. He’d simply been making small talk, being polite, being the good friend he was. They were friends, nothing more. Hell, Shiro considered him as a little brother! It was Keith’s fault for wanting more than Shiro was willing to give.

“Keith?”

He froze in the act of grabbing a glass of the overhead cupboard (Lance adored the fact that he was perhaps three inches taller than him and liked to show his superior height by putting stuff out of his reach just so Keith would ask for his help). He glanced at Shiro over his shoulder, his right arm extended as his groping fingers were trying to close around the smooth surface of a glass. He thought that maybe Shiro would tease him a little about this before offering to help, when he realised that Shiro’s eyes weren’t directed at what he was doing: they were looking at his butt.

The second Keith realised that, Shiro apparently realised what he was doing because his face turned red and he hurriedly looked away. He just stood there with his shoulders hunched like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar, his whole body screaming embarrassment. The reaction was so sweet that Keith had to smile at that. Shiro hadn’t meant anything by that, of course.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro mumbled, surprising Keith. He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes downcast in shame. “I’m sorry, Keith. I don’t want to look at you, I just can’t help it. I just—I’m sorry. Ever since I saw you yesterday, all grownup, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Keith stared, trying to understand what Shiro had just said. The first thing that struck him as weird was that Shiro was talking after if their meeting yesterday had been the first after a very long absence. Then, the rest of the words sank in. His own cheeks became hotter as he understood what Shiro was saying. He pressed his back against the counter to ground himself. He hated the look on shame on Shiro’s face. It didn’t belong there. Shiro was acting as if noticing someone’s physical appearance was shameful. If that were the case, Keith was guilty as hell because he’d always noticed just how goddamn handsome Shiro was. His morals were different from Shiro’s however. He had to remind himself that he’d long ago stopped considering the older man as a brother, that his feelings of adoration had turned to full-blown love sometimes around his thirteenth or fourteenth birthday. Shiro’s feelings had never changed, and it had to be agony and downright confusing for him to be noticing that the man he considered his little brother was good-looking.

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Keith soothed, offering a smile. “I don’t mind.”

“You should mind. It makes me feel dirty.”

Keith’s heart lurched at this. Shiro looked so broken when he said that. His voice was strained like saying the words pained him. Keith had no idea what to answer to this. He could hardly think straight and, for some reason, he felt guilty for putting Shiro through this. He hated the confusion in Shiro’s demeanour, the uncertainty and embarrassment. Keith wasn’t used to men acting this way in front of him. He wasn’t used to people showing weakness to start with, much less to admit their faults out loud. He thought back on how Shiro had behaved with Adam back when the two had been a sappy couple still in love. Shiro had always been shy of anything remotely sexual being mentioned, even after he’d been dating Adam for years. He’d been okay with holding hands and showing some affection in private, but he’d never fallen to ribald talk about what he was doing with Adam behind closed doors. He’d always blushed when Adam mentioned anything remotely pertaining to making love or even kissing. Keith couldn’t remember Shiro looking at Adam lustfully, though there had been some heat to his eyes when Adam took off his glasses or ran a hand through his light brown hair. Shiro wasn’t a pervert. Shiro was embarrassed about sex and possibly embarrassed about his needs. He was so respectful of others that he had to see his wanting of someone else’s body as something dirty.

Keith used to think this was both odd and ridiculous. Keith liked to think he wasn’t like that, but how could he be so sure? He was a whore, he didn’t have the luxury of being embarrassed or shameful. Perhaps in another life he would have been like Shiro. He didn’t know. All he knew for sure right now was that he hated that look on Shiro’s face.

“Don’t say that,” Keith said firmly. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Shiro. It’s okay to feel like that.”

Shiro looked up at him, eyes full of uncertainty. “But, it’s _you_ , Keith. You don’t deserve to be looked at that way. I shouldn’t. I don’t understand what changed.”

“Oh, Shiro, don’t say that. Please. I’m not angry at you. I truly don’t mind.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s you, and it’s okay when it’s you.”

This wasn’t what Keith had set out to said. His own eyes widened and he had to look away for a second to gather his thoughts. He heard Shiro move, his footsteps loud on the old linoleum floor as he came closer. They were standing face to face now, Keith’s naked toes touching the tip of Shiro’s boots.

“Are you sure it’s okay when it’s me?” Shiro asked softly.

The low pitch of his voice did something to Keith’s guts that he kind of liked. He looked up at the other man through his fringe. “Yeah, it’s fine,” he assured.

The lip of the counter was digging into the small of his back. Shiro was so close their chests were almost touching. He didn’t lean back or in. He merely stood, his blood hammering in his ears. Shiro was looking down at him with an oddly impassive expression, his features frozen to a stillness that was at odd with the situation. He appeared to be thinking deeply, considering him, considering the predicament they’d gotten themselves into.

Then, Shiro’s expression shifted. His eyes softened noticeably and the corners of his lips pulled up into a gentle smile. His hand—his right hand, his prosthetic hand—went to Keith’s face. His thumb carefully traced the line of his cheek, the feeling of the cold, unyielding metal weird but not quite unsettling. Keith closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. For a moment, he focused entirely on that, on that point of contact between them. His racing heart calmed, leaving him feeling more in control of the situation. This was Shiro standing in front of him, Shiro touching him so delicately.

Of course, Shiro just didn’t kiss him. He asked for permission first and Keith gave it readily. The press of their lips was almost chaste at first, Shiro acting as if he’d pull back the second Keith no longer wanted this. Keith usually hated kissing. He never allowed his clients to kiss him unless they paid an extra for it and he tolerated it with Lance, though Lance thankfully didn’t like it much either. It was different with Shiro. What he considered as an invasion, one step too close to his personal space, felt like a homecoming. Kissing Shiro felt as natural as standing next to him or hugging him. Shiro wasn’t insistent or invasive. He didn’t shove his tongue down his throat like some clients did. He took his precious time, going slow as if they had the whole night in front of them. Keith parted his lips willingly, wrapping his arms around Shiro’s neck to pull him closer. Shiro’s hands were on his jaw, cradling his head gently. There was barely any heat to the kiss. Shiro was still holding back, kind of unsure, kind of hesitant that Keith truly wanted this. Keith wanted this, holy shit did he want this. He coaxed Shiro, moaning against his mouth, showing him this was all right, that he wanted the kiss. Shiro hesitated for a few more seconds before seemingly getting the message. He angled Keith’s head back to deepen the kiss, this time not shying at using his tongue. Keith’s knees felt weak at the thought that Shiro’s tongue was in _his_ mouth, that they were kissing, that their bodies were pressed so tight together that he could feel every one of Shiro’s chest muscles against his own.

When they pulled back, Shiro rested his forehead against Keith’s. His strands of white hair tickled his cheek and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he looked into Shiro’s bottomless brown eyes. The guy was smiling too, his smile bordering on the incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. For some reason, this made Keith want to laugh because, honestly, he could hardly believe that he’d just been kissing his crush. At the back of his mind, he knew this probably meant nothing, that there was no love involved in this. He couldn’t bring himself to care for the moment. So he just focused on the happy, bubbly feeling in his chest.

“You’re too short,” Shiro said.

Before Keith had time to retort, two strong hands grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him so he sat on the counter. This display of strength did something to his guts again—he was short and slender but he wasn’t light, and Shiro had picked him up like he weighed nothing. Keith, slightly dumfounded, ran his hands over Shiro’s shoulders and biceps. Hard muscles flexed under his touch. He was wearing the same outfit he had yesterday, the one that was so tight it looked painted on him. It outlined every one of his muscle, every sinew and bulges. Keith had always admired Shiro’s physique, had been envious of it at a time. He supposed that, now that they had kissed, it was all right to touch him a little, let the palm of his hands press against that firm chest. Shiro’s heart beat steadily against his hand, strong and brave and unrelenting. His skin was warm  and even the alien metal of his prosthetic arm didn’t feel cold.

With Keith sitting on the counter, they were of a height, able to look each other in the eye. There was adoration in Shiro’s eyes, the kind that made Keith blush. Shiro’s big hands were still on his waist, huge and steady, grounding him. He felt their heat through the fabric of his shirt and through the fabric of his pants when they slid lower to rest on his thighs. A muscle twitched in his leg at the touch. He was used to people touching him and yet this felt so different. It felt different from Lance’s touch too in a way that Keith couldn’t begin to explain. He liked it, liked the way Shiro was careful, mindful, like Keith’s consent mattered greatly to him.

“I’m sorry, I hope this is all right,” Shiro murmured. He offered a small smile. “I don’t want—“ He paused mid-sentence, looking mildly putout as if he’d thought of something unpleasant. “Uh.”

“Are you okay? Is your head hurting again?” Keith asked, running his fingers through Shiro’s hair. “Maybe you should lie down.”

“It’s fine. It’s just—I feel a bit conflicted? Like I don’t know what I want to do?”

“Oh. Can I help? I mean, I don’t want you to feel conflicted about this.”

Keith looked at the other man, puzzled. For half a second, he thought Shiro would regrettably step away. Instead, Shiro leaned in and kissed him again. There was more heat to his kiss this time, a sort of desperation that Keith didn’t know how to construe. He moaned at the feel of teeth on his lower lip. He pulled Shiro closer to him, closing the distance between them by wrapping his legs around Shiro’s hips. Shiro’s hands were in his hair, his fingers tangled in black locks, pulling ever so slightly. The pull on his scalp sent a flash of heat through Keith’s body. He groaned, knowing that Shiro had to feel his arousal. A part of himself was amazed that he was getting horny simply by kissing someone and having his hair pulled. It was more than that. This was Shiro kissing him and Shiro’s hands in his hair and that thought alone ripped another moan from his throat.

“Do you want me to stop?” Shiro asked, punctuating each word by a kiss to his jaw. “Tell me.”

“No! Of course not!” Keith exclaimed, his fingers grasping at Shiro’s shirt.

Shiro hummed and continued littering kisses and small bites all along Keith’s neck and throat. Keith threw his head back to allow him more room to manoeuvre. He didn’t care if there were marks left on his skin when this was all over. Hell, he wished Shiro bit him hard enough to leave a trace, a reminder that this was truly happening, that this wasn’t all just a very vivid dream.

With one arm hooked around Shiro’s neck, Keith slid his free hand between their bodies. Suddenly, only one thought rattled in his mind: he had to see if Shiro’s dick was as big as he expected it to be. The angle was awkward, what with the lip of the counter biting into Shiro’s hips, but Keith made it work. He slid his hand down Shiro’s belly, absent-mindedly noting how firm it was, until his fingers reached the front of his pants. The mere touch sent a jolt through Shiro as if he’d been hit by a stun gun. His whole body jerked and he seemed to freeze there. He stopped kissing Keith’s throat to look into his eyes, pupils blown wide and jaw slack. Keith didn’t hesitate for one second: he cupped Shiro’s bulge in his hand, all the while staring at him. A sort of groan escaped from Shiro’s lips and, bless him, he blushed crimson. Keith noticed this reaction in passing, his whole focus on what he was feeling in his hand. Holy shit, Shiro was _huge_. He could tell even through the constricting tight pants. His mouth went dry.

“Holy shit,” Keith breathed, unable to stop himself. “Shiro, you’re huge.”

Shiro’s eyes widened. “What?”

Keith laughed breathlessly and gave the other man’s crotch a squeeze. “Don’t look so startled, it’s not a bad thing!”

As if in answer, Shiro grabbed Keith between the legs, startling him so badly he nearly whacked his head on the overhead cupboard. “You’re not,” he concluded, frowning.

For a second, Keith had absolutely no idea what to answer to that. He just stared at Shiro’s serious face, eyes wide, mouth opened. He had the sudden urge to burst into laughter and he stifled a chortle with the back of his hand. He refrained himself from saying that a lot of people would be offended by such a statement, mostly because Shiro was looking so damn cute like that, with his eyebrows pulled down in a frown. This was unfair, Keith concluded, how that man could look both cute and handsome at the same time. Rather than say anything, he pulled Shiro into an embrace, hugging him, hoping this clumsy gesture would somehow convey everything he couldn’t put into words. Shiro relaxed against him instantly. They stayed like that for a moment, content for the pause amidst all the excitement. Keith knew he’d have been wholly satisfied if Shiro decided this was enough for the night.

“Sitting on the counter cannot be comfortable,” Shiro said softly. “Maybe we could go to your bedroom?”

Keith’s heart kick-started again. His breath hitched in his chest. He nodded and, when Shiro gallantly offered him his hand, he took it and hopped off the counter. He focused on this, on his fingers pressed against Shiro’s, until his legs steadied. He lead the other man to his room, thoughts racing in his head. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel slightly anxious about this. He wanted this so much that it scared him. It wasn’t having sex with Shiro that he wanted—though he did—it was the idea of being so near Shiro that made his stomach tightened into knots. He remembered being a young teenager sharing Shiro’s and Adam’s bed, sleeping between the two of them and dreaming of a time when he’d be allowed to be with only Shiro. Was today to be the day? Was today the day he became more than Shiro’s brother? His lover, perhaps? Keith didn’t dare hope for more, didn’t even dare think of the word _boyfriend_. He could settle for lover for the time being.

They stepped into his bedroom and Keith was immediately embarrassed by the tiny room. There was nothing here but a bed, a bureau, and a tiny window that had been placarded over. The floorboards creaked beneath their footsteps. Shiro must be put off by this—he lived on the other side of the bridge, damn it, he was used to better. When he turned to apologize, Keith saw that Shiro hadn’t even taken in the room—his eye were on him, intent. His grip on Keith’s fingers tightened minutely. In the gloom, it was difficult to read Shiro’s expression but the lines of his body were clear enough. He oozed want and need in a miasma so thick Keith could almost taste it. He licked his lips. He tugged Shiro closer and, a minute later, he’d completely forgotten about the sorry state of his room.

Despite still being somewhat hesitant, Shiro’s actions made it clear that he now knew what he wanted. He gently pushed Keith until the back of his knees hit the bedframe. Shiro bent down to kiss him, his hands now exploring every inch of Keith’s body they could reach. The touches were never brisk, but Keith sensed an urgency to them, as if Shiro couldn’t wait to get this truly started. Keith wasn’t quite ready to give in yet. Their clothes were becoming an hindrance and he ignored this in favour of touching Shiro. His hands traced the contour of that sharp jawline, that strong neck, those powerful shoulders. He couldn’t get enough, couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact this was _Shiro_ he was touching, not some stranger who’d paid for the privilege. This was Shiro kissing him and shyly exploring his body, gently touching as if Keith were fragile and worthy of being worshipped, careful not to cause harm or discomfort. This unsettled Keith—there was no room for tenderness in his job. He was more used to lustful groping, with the need to get off as fast as possible. Even with Lance, things had the tendency to get heated fast. Keith didn’t understand what was different with Shiro. It thrilled and scared him in equal measures, and it helped knowing that Shiro was trying to figure this out too.

Keith’s thoughts unravelled when Shiro finally stopped edging and grabbed his butt. Shiro made a sound at the back of his throat that sounded like approval. Keith’s face burned at this silent praise. His breath hitched in his chest and Shiro apparently took it to mean this was all right. He squeezed Keith’s flesh and they were pressed so close together that Keith felt Shiro’s erection twitch against his leg. He glanced down, wondering if now was the time to get rid of Shiro’s pants so he could finally get a good look at that huge thing.

Shiro had other plans however. He startled Keith by pushing him, making him tumble on his bed in an ungraceful heap. Keith had no time to recover that Shiro was climbing on top of him, looming over him. For a second, they stared at each other, their panting breaths mingling. They were so close Keith could see every minute details in Shiro’s eyes, see the large, deep scar on his nose and the stubble that was beginning to grow around his jaw. He’d never noticed that Shiro’s eyes weren’t brown but a deep grey tinged with another colour he couldn’t name. He’d never quite realised how _big_ Shiro was compared to him, how huge his muscles were. Shiro’s arms bracketed him in, keeping him in place. Keith unconsciously wrapped his hand around Shiro’s left wrist, the tip of his thumb barely touching the tip of his middle finger. Keith _liked_ this. More than liked, actually. He relished being pinned down by this huge man he trusted so completely. There was nothing scary to this. It wasn’t like when his clients did it, when Keith had to stifle panic at the thought that he was so bloody defenseless sprawled like that. Shiro didn’t make him feel defenseless. Despite the strength coursing through his body, he’d never harm Keith, never touch a single of his hair if Keith didn’t consent to it first. This was power of a kind Keith had never wielded before. He read it in Shiro’s eyes, how despite their position it was Keith who was in charge, he who called the shots.

“Come on, Shiro,” he urged softly. “Do what you want.”

He could see the spark of arousal coursing through Shiro at the words. His lips trembled as his eyes searched his face, once again making sure that Keith was all right with all of this. There was something satisfying in seeing Shiro like this, in knowing he was the cause for this, in knowing he could undo Shiro as easily as he could build him up again. The sheer power of it sent a shiver of thrill down his back.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Shiro said. He rested his prosthetic hand on Keith’s chest, just above his heart. “You’re so small.”

“You won’t.” Keith grabbed Shiro’s face, forcing him to look into his eyes. “Believe me, you _won’t_. Shiro, you’re gentle, and I trust you. I’m tough, you know I am.”

There was something… sad in Shiro’s eyes, as if he couldn’t quite believe Keith’s words. Keith didn’t know what to make of this. He had a sense that something had happened to Shiro during those two years he had disappeared. Had he been forced to hurt someone? That would explain the constant air of sadness and tragedy that surrounded him. Keith didn’t know how to convey that he didn’t fear Shiro. For a second, he thought of spewing the truth, of saying those three words that had been on the tip of his tongue for so long. _I love you_. But he couldn’t. Not like this. Not when they could ruin everything.

Instead, he said: “Remember when we used to spar together? Remember how you refused to at first because you were afraid to hurt me? Well, you never did hurt me, you know that.”

“I—” For a second, Shiro looked as if he would say he didn’t remember. His thick eyebrows lowered in a frown, then his expression cleared. “Yes. I remember. I didn’t have this back then, though.” He made a fist with his prosthetic hand before resting it back beside Keith’s head, fingers twining into his hair. “I don’t know if I can trust it.”

So, that was the problem. Keith ran his fingers up and down the length of the false arm, feeling its cool hardness, the ridges and bumps. “It’s part of you so I trust it too.”

A muscle twitched in Shiro’s face. He said nothing for a few moments, his expression vacant. When he blinked, his eyes cleared and he smiled in a relieved way. There was so much warmth in that smile Keith feared it would singe off his eyebrows. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling back and the kiss Shiro gave him tasted like gratefulness. Shiro seemed content to kiss him for the moment, pressing his body against his. Keith spread his legs as best he could to accommodate him, groaning when their clothed erections rubbed together. Despite what had just happened, Shiro was still as hard as before.

Shiro sat back on his haunches, looking down at Keith, his eyes taking in every detail of his dishevelled appearance. Keith tried not to squirm under the hot gaze, feeling stupidly self-conscious of the way his shirt had ridden up his belly and how low his pants were hanging on his hips. Shiro gently put his flesh and blood hand on the sliver of exposed skin, making Keith shiver. He could hardly breathe, his thoughts whirling in his head. He relished how composed Shiro looked, how it was a drastic contrast to the heat in his eyes.

Shiro’s hand travelled lower over the fabric of Keith’s pants, making him gasp at the touch on his crotch. His hips bucked against his will. He wanted to tell Shiro to get on with it. He had to keep his teeth gritted to be silent—rushing this would be a bad idea. Every second spent with Shiro was worth it, even if it were pure torture. He could tell Shiro relished touching him, mapping the contours of his body. In the semi-darkness, he saw that Shiro was blushing, apparently fighting his own shyness. For some reason, Keith found this ridiculously endearing.

“Do you have…?” Shiro asked, making an awkward gesture with his hand.

Keith had to actively fight through the haze in his mind to understand what Shiro was asking. He stared for a second before understanding that the man was asking for lube. Okay, maybe Shiro’s awkwardness wasn’t _that_ endearing if couldn’t even bring himself to say the word _lube_. As he leaned over the edge of his bed to grope under the mattress, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering how Adam had managed to get Shiro undressed the first time if he were still this shy at his age. It didn’t matter, not when Shiro’s hand casually rested on his hip while he tried to find what he was looking for.

“You really don’t have to be so shy with me,” Keith said, handing Shiro the bottle of lube after finding it. “You can tell me what you want.”

Shiro blushed harder at this, ducking his head as he took the small object. Crap, what was going through that guy’s mind that could be so embarrassing? Keith couldn’t begin to imagine. Knowing Shiro though, it couldn’t be so bad. And anyway, Keith was willing to go along with whatever Shiro planned to do.

“I just… erm, can I just do it?” Shiro mumbled. “You can tell me if you don’t like it.”

“Sure. I told you, I trust you.”

Shiro finally deigned met his gaze this time. He looked… honoured by this simple statement, as if he hadn’t quite dared believe it until then. The smile he bestowed upon Keith was nothing short of heart-stopping. Keith blushed, confused, still horny and looking forward to what was coming.

Apparently steeling his nerves, Shiro hooked the fingers of one hand into the waistband of Keith’s pants and pulled them down. Keith raised his hips to help and soon his pants were thrown to the side, forgotten. He’d worn nothing underneath. It left him totally exposed to Shiro’s gaze, a gaze so intense that Keith squirmed. There was no hiding that he was fully hard already. If he judged by the expression on Shiro’s face, the man liked what he was seeing. Keith knew he was good-looking, yet getting Shiro’s approval on something as trivial as his appearance made him feel all mushy inside.

When Shiro touched his length, Keith gasped. His hips bucked again in an embarrassing display of need. He wasn’t ashamed of it but damn did he wish he could be cooler about this, more clinical, like he was with his clients, just so he could analyse every move Shiro made rather than just react to them. Shiro wrapped his left hand around Keith’s length. The heat and pressure were amazing. Keith threw his head back with a moan when Shiro began moving his hand up and down in a slow, torturous movement. There was no awkwardness to this at least—Shiro clearly knew what he was doing. Keith brought a hand to his mouth when he moaned again, _loudly_ , biting on his own flesh to smother the sound. The look Shiro sent him made him reconsider. Shiro wanted to hear everything, and Keith, in the haze of his mind, made a note to be careful with his swearing and lewd choice of words.

He tried not to whimper in disappointment when Shiro removed his hand. Keith was panting hard, his chest heaving. Slight tremors shook his whole body as he watched through half-lidded eyes as Shiro uncorked the bottle of lube, watched the clear gel dribble on those metal fingers.

“You’re not even undressed,” Keith mumbled. “Take your clothes off.”

Shiro shook his head and said something like _later_. Keith was about to protest when Shiro’s hand returned to his dick, making his thoughts unspool. Shiro’s fingers, the ones with the lube, went lower, pressing gently. Keith couldn’t stop himself from shivering at the touch of the metal against his heated skin. It didn’t feel bad, just alien. For some reason, he had a hard time relaxing so Shiro could push one finger in. The thought that this was _Shiro_ doing this made Keith’s heart thump painfully hard in his chest. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax and just enjoy it. He groaned when one then two fingers were finally pushed in. He could hear Shiro’s panting breaths over his own. The thought that Shiro was coming undone because of _him_ made him swell stupidly with pride.

Keith forced himself to look at Shiro’s face—he wanted to see every one of his expressions. Shiro looked focused, as if he were doing something that required all of his attention. He was so handsome in the half-light, Keith could hardly comprehend it.

And when Shiro bent his head and took his cock into his mouth, Keith shouted in surprise. His hips bucked against his will. His fingers grasped the sheets beneath him as wet heat engulfed him. He closed his eyes, focusing on not coming right away. Holy shit, this was _Shiro’s_ mouth on his dick. That thought alone nearly undid him. He bit his lip painfully hard, focusing on the small pain. Shiro worked his mouth and fingers in perfect tandem. He kept Keith’s hips pinned down with his free left hand, a gentle pressure. There was fire in Keith’s belly.

He opened his eyes, needing to see that he wasn’t dreaming all this. He couldn’t see Shiro’s face from this angle, but he’d recognize that strand of white hair anywhere. It fell across his stomach in a soft heap, tickling his burning skin. He moaned as Shiro hollowed his cheeks, bobbing his head in a rhythm that wasn’t quite enough. His fingers crooked inside Keith, just shy of where he wanted them. The muscles in Keith’s legs tensed as he tried to keep himself from bucking into that warm mouth. His hand went to Shiro’s hair, too short to provide any kind of purchase. Holy shit, did he just imagine it or had he felt Shiro _smile_ against his dick?

As if to prove this, Shiro raised his head just enough for Keith to see the upturned curve of his lips. Keith swore loudly. He grabbed Shiro by his forelock and angled his face downward. And the bastard had the nerve to _chuckle_. Keith stifled a groan as Shiro tongued the underside of his dick, the pressure teasing. This time, when he crooked his fingers, they did brush against Keith’s prostate.

“Fuck, Shiro,” he whimpered. He buried both his hands in his own hair, tugging. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

“That’s okay?”

“Fuck, more than okay!”

Shiro peppered little kisses all over Keith’s dick, then on his thighs and belly. He pushed a third finger into him gently, testing the stretch. There was hardly any resistance by now—Keith’s body knew what to do. The stretch felt good anyway and it was easy to forget about it with Shiro’s mouth exploring his body.

“Take off your shirt,” Shiro said.

Keith scrambled to obey, arms stupidly uncoordinated as he tugged at his sweat-soaked shirt. The garment fell somewhere on the floor, totally forgotten. Satisfied, Shiro kept kissing up his belly, warm lips leaving a slightly wet trail behind. Keith arched into the touch, relishing the softness. Shiro’s fingers had stopped moving inside to merely press against his prostate, a constant pressure that was slowly driving Keith crazy.

Shiro kissed every one of his ribs. When his teeth nipped gently at his nipple, Keith’s back bowed upward in a silent plea. He was panting harshly, body afire, mind whirling. He couldn’t quite grasp that this was _Shiro_ touching him in ways he’d only dared to dream of. He kept his eyes focused on the other man, sure that if he looked away, it would all just vanish.

“You like that?” Shiro asked, eyes meeting Keith’s as his teeth grazed his nipple again.

Keith nodded vigorously. “Y-yeah.”

To be sure Shiro knew he wasn’t lying, he put his hand on the back of Shiro’s head and pushed, urging him on. Shiro’s pleased laugh only served to inflame Keith further. He replaced his teeth with his tongue, alternating between both nipples until Keith whimpered. It was bordering on too much, too painful, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. He reached between their bodies to tug at his own dick, trying to relieve of bit of the pressure. He moaned as his hips bucked. The movement pushed Shiro’s fingers harder against his prostate. He saw stars. His climax was already building, burning inside his belly. He shook with the need of it.

He was so close. When Shiro’s mouth left his chest to return to his dick, it tipped him over the edge. One small suck was enough. Keith came with a silent gasp, back arching off the bed, one hand grasping Shiro’s hair and the other the bedsheet beneath him. Shiro fingered him through it, prolonging it until it was almost too much.

Keith slumped back, shaking with the force of his orgasm. He opened his eyes to see Shiro wiping his mouth. The mere sight of it sent a new shiver of arousal through Keith’s spent dick. He panted, trying to form coherent thoughts and to find the right words to speak them.

Shiro had fucking swallowed his come. And he was smiling as if Keith had just given him a treat.

“Good?” Shiro asked, a grin on his face.

His voice sounded raspy. Keith had sucked enough dicks in his life to know what this meant. He hid his face in his hands, trying to come down from his high.

“Hell, yes,” he mumbled. He peeked at the other through his fingers. “You gonna fuck me now, won’t you?”

Shiro looked a bit surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Uh, fuck, yes?” Keith looked pointedly at the tented front of Shiro’s pants. “You think I’m going to let you leave here like that?”

This brought another flush of heat to Shiro’s face. “I hadn’t dared hope.”

Keith had pushed himself up one elbow to stare incredulously at Shiro. He let himself plop back on the mattress with an exaggerated sigh of exasperation. “Jeez. As if I’d let you leave without getting one good look at your dick.”

Shiro chuckled, sounding both relieved and disbelieving. He looked at Keith’s dick that had softened after coming.

“Move your fingers,” Keith ordered.

A shiver of arousal ran visibly through Shiro. He removed his fingers from Keith’s hole, added more lube, and pushed them back in. There wasn’t any resistance left, yet he was nonetheless careful. Keith hummed in approval, spreading his legs further. He was putting on a show, he knew, but he couldn’t stop himself, especially not when he saw how it riled Shiro up. The guy’s composure was slipping, it showed in the uncoordinated way he moved his fingers, in the way he licked his lips and in the way his free hand kept straying toward his still-clothed dick. It strained against the fabric of his pants. Keith eyed it hungrily. He wanted it badly, but he wanted to keep torturing Shiro just a tiny bit longer.

Keith arched his back, pushing his chest out. He lightly ran his fingers over his skin, brushing his sensitive nipples. Shiro drank it all, eyes wide. He forgot about moving his fingers, all of his attention focused on watching Keith. It was exhilarating, that attention. Keith wanted to bask in it. It made him feel powerful, in utter control. He knew that if he ordered Shiro to leave, he’d do so without complaint. Perhaps it was the safety of it that was the most arousing of all. It shouldn’t surprise him—he’d always felt safe with Shiro in any situation, so why not in bed too?

A wave of love rocked him so hard his body shook with it.

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

And Shiro obeyed willingly. Their lips met almost chastely, a mere brush. Keith could taste himself on Shiro’s tongue. It didn’t matter. He wrapped his arms around Shiro’s neck, pulling him close, relishing the ease with which they were together. It was as if they were meant to be.

“Take off your clothes.”

Shiro gave him another peck, this time on the nose, before getting up. Keith whined at the loss of the fingers—he replaced them with his own, watching as Shiro’s eyes widened. He stood there for a moment, transfixed, watching Keith’s fingers disappear into his body. Keith hadn’t expected Shiro would like being given a show. It was a nice tidbit of information to tuck away.

He quirked an eyebrow, playing it cool although he wasn’t feeling all that cool. He was back to full arousal already, dick straining to be touched again. He had to be careful while fingering himself not to touch his prostate or he might come at the mere sight of Shiro undressing.

Shiro clearly wasn’t used to being the centre of attention. He tugged at his clothes clumsily, nearly getting stuck in his own shirt as he pulled it over his head. It made Keith laugh fondly. His eyes didn’t miss anything of what was revealed. He took in every hard muscle, clearly defined despite being at rest. There were scars on Shiro’s chest, faint lines lighter than the rest of his skin. The worst of the scarring was where the stump of his right arm met the prosthetic. Keith had never seen it before and he longed to touch it, to run his fingers over the mangled skin.

Another time.

Shiro toed off his boots. He hesitated with his hands over the waistband of his pants. He glanced up at Keith who nodded in encouragement. His breath hitched in his throat. As if resigning himself, Shiro finally pulled down his pants and underwear.

Keith groaned. His dick twitched. His mouth watered. Holy shit. Shiro was perfect. And he was fucking huge. Like, really big. Keith wasn’t sure he’d ever seen such a big dick in his life. If Shiro hadn’t looked so close to coming, he’d have begged to suck him off. Later, next time, he told himself.

“Shit, come here,” Keith said urgently.

Shiro looked kind of embarrassed, as if he had something to be ashamed of. Keith made a mental note to ask him what was so embarrassing about this. Now wasn’t the time. Now was the time to make Shiro feel so good he forgot about it all.

Keith grabbed his arm, pushed him on the bed, and straddled him. Shiro’s eyes grew wide and his hands instinctively went to Keith’s hips. He looked so damn gorgeous lying there, face red, eyes dark with lust, hair messy. His big hands felt good, reassuring.

They took a moment to catch their breath, each admiring the other. Keith tried to calm down a little. The inferno raging beneath his skin made him itch. He wanted to touch Shiro, wanted to be touched, yet he wanted them to remain like that too, just gazing at each other. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Shiro seemed to have momentarily forgotten his embarrassment in favour of drinking up the picture Keith offered.

“You okay, baby?” he asked gently, voice soft.

Keith shivered at the pet name. “Yeah. You’re just so handsome.”

Shiro blushed. “Look who’s talking.”

Keith laughed breathlessly. He sat back a little, feeling Shiro’s hard dick against his butt. He sighed as Shiro’s breath hitched. He reached back, grabbing the dick in a firm hold. Shiro’s whole body tensed. Keith observed his face as he moved his hand up and down the very generous length. Shiro’s grip on his hips tightened, but he didn’t move, let him do as he pleased.

This was becoming torture for the both of them. Keith reached for the bottle of lube, poured a generous helping on his hand, and smeared it over Shiro’s dick. He hissed, hips twitching. Keith panted, telling himself to be patient, that it would be well worth the wait. He liked the way Shiro’s hands gripped his hips harder, liked the thought that the fingers would leave an imprint on his skin. Already, he could feel bite marks blossoming all over his chest and neck.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He wiped the rest of the lube on his thigh, returned his hand to Shiro’s dick, and sank on it slowly. Very slowly. His mouth fell open as the first inch slid into his hole. The stretch was nothing like the fingers had been. Shiro groaned beneath him, but Keith barely heard him. He had to focus all his attention on relaxing his body. Though he was used to this, Shiro’s size made it a challenge regardless. He kept his hips moving downward. The stretch grew easier to bear. He moaned, unable to stop himself. He had to steady himself on Shiro’s chest, to ground himself a little. Shiro felt wound up tight too. When Keith glanced at him, he saw that his teeth were gritted in an effort not to slam Keith down.

When it was all in, Keith paused to catch his breath. Shit, he’d never felt this full before. Shiro’s dick burned inside him like a brand. Shiro kept asking him if he was all right, if this was too much. Keith barely had any breath left to answer him so he just nodded.

Once he’d grown used to this, Keith began to move. Carefully at first. He wanted to feel every inch of Shiro’s dick as it nearly pulled slowly out of him. Shiro’s grasp on him relented a little as if he wanted to leave Keith free to move as he liked. Keith preferred it that way.

He sat back down at the same agonizingly slow pace, relishing the slight burn. It didn’t take long before he was moving again, slamming his hips back down. Any trace of unease disappeared as his climax started building up in earnest again. He pushed it back—this had to last. His legs ached with the strain of pulling himself up and down. He didn’t care. He threw his head back, moaning as the tip of Shiro’s dick brushed his prostate. Shiro made a strangled sound at the back of his throat that went directly to Keith’s dick.

He could feel Shiro’s flesh and blood hand running up and down his torso, worshipping every inch of his skin. His prosthetic hand rested on the small of Keith’s back, dipping lower until the fingers touched where his dick was breaching him.

Words tumbled from Keith’s lips as the heat built up in his belly. There was no fighting it anymore so he stoked it higher instead. He braced both hands on Shiro’s chest, anchoring himself as he grinded his hips harder. Shiro’s dick rubbed against his prostate at every thrust now. Shiro was helping him with the thrusts, firm hands guiding his hips.

He was about to go over the edge. He whined desperately, needing to push it back just a bit further. He couldn’t come, not yet, not before Shiro. When Shiro’s fingers encircled his dick and jerked however, Keith couldn’t stop himself. The world exploded behind his closed eyes into a million stars of white-hot pleasure. His body came alive with it, his skin tingling and his nerve endings screaming. It went on and on as Shiro squeezed every ounce of pleasure he could out of him.

Keith went limp and barely noticed when Shiro shifted their position. He allowed it, going with the movement easily. Shiro leaned over him, hands firmly planted on both sides of his head, as he pounded into him for another long moment. Keith whined in both pleasure and pain. He heard Shiro gasp, breaths going as erratic as his thrusts. He pushed in one last time before coming with a groan, pushing his face into Keith’s neck. Keith held him through it, feeling his body shiver as come flooded him.

Shiro slumped on him, panting. Keith combed his fingers through his short hair, relishing the soft texture. Shiro’s body felt heavy and warm on his, comforting.

They stayed like that for a long moment until their racing hearts calmed. Keith felt pleasantly satiated. His body ached in all the right ways. His heart felt full.

He was happy.

“Are you okay?” Shiro asked in a soft voice, breath ghosting against Keith’s ear.

“Yeah. You?”

“Never better.” He paused. “Is that okay if I move? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Keith nodded lazily. Shiro carefully pulled back, his limp dick sliding out. Keith winced a little—okay, he was going to be sore tomorrow, there was no denying it. He didn’t mind.

Shiro sat back on his haunches, gazed directed between Keith’s legs. When he caught Keith looking, he hurriedly turned his eyes away, blushing.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Keith said. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

“It’s not… weird?”

“I don’t know. Not to me, anyway. It takes a lot to weird me out. You can look or touch, I don’t mind.”

Shiro looked even more embarrassed, as if a sordid idea had just crossed his mind. Holy shit, this guy was too cute for his own good. Keith was no longer sure he wasn’t dreaming the whole damn thing.

“Do you want to fuck me again?” Keith asked, just to be a snot.

“I’d like that.”

“Okay. Do you want to watch me finger myself?”

Shiro gulped. “I’d love that.”

“Hm. Do you want me to suck your dick?”

“Later.” He cleared his throat. His cheeks were crimson by then. “That’s not what I want.”

“I won’t keep guessing. You have to use your words, Shiro. We’re going to be here all night otherwise.”

“Baby, you’re killing me!” Shiro’s eyes grew huge as he blurted out: “Can I eat your ass, please?!”

Keith stared at him before bursting into laughter. His heart fluttered happily inside his chest. He sat up, gripped Shiro’s cheeks, and kissed him soundly on the mouth.

“Only if you allow me to shower first, puppy.”

-

When Keith woke the next morning, the first thing he saw was Shiro’s sleeping face. For a long moment he stared, sure that the dream would fade away. It didn’t. In the hazy dawn light, Shiro’s features remained solid. He hadn’t left during the night as Keith had been sure he would. His chest felt tight at this realisation. They’d had sex and then they’d slept together. Shiro’s human arm was slung heavily over Keith’s waist, its weight the proof that it had all been real. They’d even slept in each other’s arms. Shiro’s face was so close that Keith could see every single hair of his growing stubble and of his thick eyebrows. He could only stare, feelings a whirl of incomprehension in his heart. He was so happy he feared it would choke him. How often had he dreamed of this exact same thing? To simply wake by Shiro’s side in a calm, happy place, to laze about in bed with all the time in the world to bask in this warmth? It was different than when it had happened in his youth yet not that much. The same warmth, the same easiness, the same happiness sufficed him. The love was still there too, transformed, matured, still as strong as before.

Keith reached out to tentatively trace the scar on Shiro’s nose. The skin there was jagged, raised, a paler colour than the rest. It looked deep, deep enough to have grazed the bridge of his nose when it had been inflected. It must have hurt like hell. It gave him a rakish look, making him look less like the good boy he’d always been.

“It tickles,” Shiro mumbled in a low voice. He smiled lazily when Keith removed his hand. “You don’t have to stop.”

“You’re killing me with that handsome face,” Keith answered honestly.

Shiro laughed and opened his eyes. “Killing you in a good way, I hope?”

Keith ducked his head, blushing. “You couldn’t do anything wrong so yeah, killing me in a good way.”

Shiro’s hand left his hip to curl around the back of his head. Strong fingers combed through his tangled hair, gentle, mindful of the knots. Keith rested his forehead on Shiro’s collarbone, enjoying the touch. It was all so good he had to resist the temptation of asking Shiro to pinch him. This had to be a dream. Surely, reality couldn’t be this perfect— _Shiro_ couldn’t be as perfect as Keith had always imagined him to be. Yet the fingers in his hair felt real enough and the musky smell of Shiro’s skin and the warmth of his embrace. Keith closed his eyes, basking in the moment, hoarding every tiny sensations his senses were recording. He hoarded them selfishly, unsure of how things would be once they got back to the real world. They hadn’t talked last night—neither of them had wanted that, so Keith didn’t know where they stood with each other. Two days ago, Shiro had become almost a memory to him, just a caller ID to look for on the screen of his PDA. And now, this? The way Shiro had behaved, the way he’d kissed him and reverently touched him, had felt as if he’d also been dreaming about this for a long time. Had Shiro… wanted him in the past and had never been brave enough to say so? Keith didn’t know, didn’t know if he had the strength to ask. If Shiro answered that it had just been a moment of insanity, his heart would break. He wouldn’t recover from that.

He pushed those thoughts away—moment of insanity or not, he wanted to be happy just for a while longer. He wanted to childishly pretend the world outside their bed didn’t exist, that it was only the two of them under these blankets. Reality had a way of reasserting itself sooner or later, anyway.

He felt Shiro’s lips against his hair, the gentle press of his fingers at the back of his neck. He’d felt him tense, Keith realised, and he was soothing him. Keith relaxed by degrees, letting go of his thoughts. Shiro’s scent was different from his memories as if he’d started using a different soap. Keith liked it, liked that a new scent went with their new relationship. He snuggled closer, pressing their naked bodies together.

“Is everything all right, baby?” Shiro asked softly into his hair.

 _Baby_. Keith had always hated that nickname yet it sounded so sweet coming from Shiro. It didn’t sound condescending or patronizing. He could get used to being called that.

“Hm-hm.”

“I didn’t hurt you, didn’t I? You, er, I mean, you looked kind of… taken aback last night when I… took off my pants…”

Keith’s eyes widened. He pushed back, staring at Shiro’s red face in amazement. He burst into laughter, startling the both of them equally. Oh, yeah, he’d been taken aback all right. He’d guessed Shiro would be big, he just hadn’t expected him to be quite this _huge_. How should he phrase this to make Shiro understand that he’d liked it? Sure, it had been a bit painful at first and sitting down his morning would be awkward, but it had been _good_. Keith had to admit he had a newfound respect for Adam who’d taken all that while being a virgin.

“No, no!” Keith assured, grinning. “Don’t worry about that! I swear you didn’t hurt me, Shiro. I know you never would.”

Shiro was still blushing, his eyes turned away. “O-Okay.”

Keith grabbed his jaw and forced him to look at him. “Shiro, I’m honest. Trust me, okay? You know I’m not a liar. It was amazing. _You_ were amazing.”

“You were amazing, baby,” Shiro answered, finally locking gaze with him. “And you look very pretty this morning with your hair looking like a bird’s nest.”

“Shiro! Urgh! That’s mean! … maybe I really should cut my hair.”

“No, don’t! I really like it! It’s just… messy? In a pretty way?”

Keith reached out and tugged Shiro’s fluffy white forelock. “You’re lucky you’re so damn cute, Takashi Shirogane.”

“Yes, I’m very lucky.”

He said that while staring at Keith, as if he found himself lucky to be with him. It was Keith’s turn to blush. Heat burned in his cheeks. Shit, Shiro was making him blush like some untried young boy.

“You’re ridiculous,” he grumbled. “Look, I’m going to make some breakfast. You should sleep a bit more. We both know you need your rest.” At Shiro’s blank look, he added: “The doctor said you need to sleep more, remember? I kept you up most of the night so, to make up for it, I’ll let you sleep in.”

“Oh, right, yes. Are you sure? You’re not tired?”

Keith got up, wincing at the light twinge of pain. He quirked an eyebrow at Shiro as he put on his pants. “No. I’m used to be up all night. Do you have your meds with you? Urgh, no, I guessed not, they’re at the HQ. Well, we’ll have to go there later for you to take them.”

“You know I have to take them?”

The question sounded weird to Keith. How could he not know? “Yeah, of course. I’ve watched Adam prepare them enough times already to know which ones you have to take and when.”

Shiro’s eyes went soft. “You’ve always cared, baby.”

“And I always will.” He pushed on Shiro’s chest until he lied back down on the bed. “Which is why I’m telling you to sleep for another couple of hours.”

“All right, I’ll sleep a bit more, but only if you promise the first thing I get to see when I wake up is your pretty face.”

Keith flushed. He tried to sound more stern than embarrassed as he said: “O-Of course. You’ll see enough of my face to get sick of it. Sleep now, Shiro.”

Shiro offered him a smile that made him want to take off his clothes once more and jump into bed. Instead, he turned on his heels and left the room, sure that his face would combust. He leaned against the door after closing it softly. His heart hammered hard enough inside his chest to be painful. He dug his hand into his breastbone, amazed by the sensation. Happiness. He was so bloody happy he feared he would burst with it. His whole body tingled, his skin remembering Shiro’s touch. He’d slept with Shiro. He could hardly believe it. The words whizzed inside his brain, rattling in a merry cacophony that drew a silly smile to his face. He’d had _sex_ with Shiro and then they’d cuddled and they’d woken up in each other’s arms. It was almost too much for him to believe—he had to resist the urge to peek into the bedroom to make sure he hadn’t dreamt the whole thing.

He went into the kitchen, still slightly dazed by the turn of events. His flat suddenly felt much warmer, much welcoming despite its air of abandonment. He stood there like an idiot, unsure what to do first. A part of himself wanted to run back to Shiro, to jump under the warm blankets and spend the whole day there. The annoyingly practical part of himself knew he couldn’t do that. There were things to be done. He should be finishing packing, should be finishing locking up the apartment in an attempt to protect it from looters. They had to get back to HQ, to that ridiculous war that was slowly engulfing Neo-Metropolis. Keith didn’t want that, didn’t want to give up on that tiny piece of paradise that had enveloped him so completely last night. How would things be between Shiro and him once they got out there? They hadn’t talked about that. Keith didn’t know what to expect and, most likely, Shiro didn’t either. What were they, now? Friends with benefits? Lovers? Had it been a one-time deal best left unmentioned? None of these choices sounded like something Shiro would do. Shiro was the steady kind of bloke, the guy who went after serious relationships only. Keith couldn’t imagine him having one-night stands. Hell, Shiro had been with Adam since they were sixteen, and he was pretty sure Adam had been Shiro’s only bedmate even after their breakup. So what did this mean?

Maybe he shouldn’t question this too hard. Maybe he should focus on the fact that it had happened and that it had been amazing. He was usually so damn good at compartmentalizing. He knew sex was sex, that emotions or feelings didn’t have to be involved. Surely it would have been easier to think along these lines if it had been anyone but Shiro. Keith _loved_ him so much his soul ached with it. Despite the fact that, yeah, the sex had been mind-blowingly amazing, his mind kept returning to everything else that had happened: the cuddling afterward, the ease with which they were together, the smiles and chuckles they’d shared, the innocent touches, the gentle caresses, the soft looks, the warmth of simply being in each other’s arms. Keith had never felt anything like this before. Somehow, all those silly love songs and romance movies Lance adored made so much sense. The world did indeed seem brighter, the air sweeter.

Keith needed answers. He couldn’t take the suspense, the uncertainty, not after everything that had happened last night. He’d missed Shiro so damn much, and now this? He needed to know what this meant, why Shiro suddenly had a change of heart. He’d have to ask and hope for the best. It would be better than stewing in uncertainty. It wouldn’t be like that time he left his stupid love confession on the voicemail—Shiro was here so he’d have to answer. He owed Keith that much.

He kept glancing at the clock as he went about the flat, making sure nothing of value or incriminating had been left in the open. Lance had done a thorough job of getting rid of the few drug-related items they’d kept around. It had all been neatly packed in a box, ready to be put in storage. Keith looked at that box—it was kind of sad that his whole life could be put into one cardboard box and a gym bag. Sure, he’d miss the flat and everything in it if it got destroyed, but it wasn’t as if he couldn’t start over somewhere else. He couldn’t imagine someone like Adam packing his stuff neatly into a bag and moving on without a look behind.

When there was about fifteen minutes left before he had to wake Shiro up, he went to work making some breakfast. He was no chef and he mourned the fact he hadn’t spent more time trying to learn from Adam. Shiro deserved the best and Keith wasn’t sure he could offer something decent. He did make a mean porridge though, which was better than nothing, and he was glad to see there was still some fruits in the fridge, surely a leftover from one of Lance’s mother’s visits. Shiro needed proteins and healthy food to function to the best of his abilities. Keith remembered Adam had had a binder full of nutritionist-approved recipes that would provide Shiro with all the nutriments he needed. It was a huge, demanding task, taking care of a chronically ill person. As soon as the bridge opened, Keith intended on paying Adam a long visit to talk about just that.

If Shiro planned on staying with him. Yeah, he had to clear that up first.

Shiro was asleep when Keith tiptoed back into the bedroom. He’d pulled the blankets up to his chin and was snoring away softly, looking utterly comfortable. Keith indulged himself by taking the time to drink in every detail of the scene: Shiro’s soft face in repose, the way the light fell on his skin, that adorable tuft of white hair falling gently over his forehead, how he looked so utterly comfortable in a bed he hadn’t slept in before, his head resting on Keith’s pillow. He looked so deceptively peaceful, calm, in peace, defenseless even, so much that Keith’s entire being vibrated with the need to protect. He wanted Shiro to be forever like that, to be free of pain and woes, to be allowed to sleep without his dreams being disturbed by nightmares, not to have to worry about his life that grew shorter with every passing day. He was dying and it hurt so much, especially because he looked so damn healthy. Keith saw no trace of the disease on his face or on his body. Maybe it would be easier to accept if Shiro looked ill.

Or maybe he looked ill, sometimes, when there was nobody around to worry about him. That would be like Shiro—being strong for everybody else’s sake.

Keith knelt by the bed and gently ran his fingers through Shiro’s short hair. Shiro grumbled in his sleep, thick eyebrows furrowing comically. Keith kept at it, watching the minute changes on his face, the twitch of the features that he knew like the back of his hand. Eventually, Shiro’s eyes slid open, still blurry with sleep. They immediately focused on Keith and the smile that spread on Shiro’s face made Keith’s breath hitch.

“It’s time to wake up, sleepyhead,” Keith said softly.

Shiro tugged his arm free from the blankets. He grabbed Keith’s hand, pulling it down until he could press his lips to the knuckles. Keith blushed, his fingers tingling nicely.

“Good morning, beautiful. I thought it was all a dream.”

“That’s exactly what I told myself when I woke up this morning.”

Shiro looked surprised by this. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Emboldened by the setting, by the soft expression in Shiro’s eyes, and by his singing heart, he said: “You know I love you, Shiro.”

The words left his mouth easily, as if they’d been meant to be said exactly at that perfect moment. Keith felt no embarrassment, no need to turn his gaze away from Shiro’s. For a second or a last time, it had to be said. Shiro had to know the truth.

“I know, baby. You told me last night. You probably didn’t realise you were saying it. Just—please, don’t say anything, let me finish.” Shiro smiled. “I was so happy, but I didn’t dare believe it. I thought maybe you were just… overcome and didn’t mean it.”

Keith felt like dying. He stared at Shiro, eyes wide, aghast. He should have known, should have known the truth would slip out eventually. He knew he talked a lot during sex. Usually however, it was dirty talk he settled for or, if not, encouragements for his partner. It shouldn’t be so surprising that he wouldn’t talk that way around Shiro. Had he really been so lost to lust that he’d just blurted it all out?

In the long run, it didn’t matter. Confessing had been his plan all along. He decided to push on.

“I don’t remember, but yes, I meant it, every word. I love you, Shiro.”

He couldn’t stop saying it, couldn’t he? He marveled at his own brazenness—it wasn’t that long ago that he hadn’t dared think about his feelings for Shiro when the other man was present in fear he might just read his thoughts. He supposed he simply had nothing to lose anymore.

“That’s good, because you know I love you too, right, baby?”

“Y-yeah, I know, you love me like your little brother—”

“No. Keith, do you truly believe I would have slept with you if I’d still considered you like my little brother? You’re all grownup now. You’ve become this wonderful, beautiful young man and I can’t believe I never saw it before. I’ve struggled with my feelings for you because I thought it was wrong for me to be in love with you. I… don’t know why I thought that, really, I just did. I just—”

“S-Shiro, wait, please. What are you saying?”

Shiro smiled. “I’m in love with you, Keith. Nothing would bring me more joy than spending the rest of my life with you. I—”

Keith couldn’t let him finish. He jumped on Shiro, grabbed his face, and kissed him. He had to or he’d burn or burst into tears or start laughing like a loon. He had to act or his body would split beneath the assaults of his feelings. Shiro was laughing against his lips, trying to free himself from the blankets to pull him closer. He tangled his fingers into Keith’s hair, grounding him, reminding him this was not just some elaborate dream. Shiro _loved_ him. Shiro loved _him_. Shiro loved Keith. He had for a long time.

Keith pulled back and punched Shiro’s chest. “You should’ve told me sooner!” he said between panting breaths. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been pining for you! Y-you… you self-righteous prick!”

Shiro laughed, a carefree sound that Keith hadn’t heard in the longest time. “I’m sorry, baby, I really am! It’s just… for the longest time, I still saw you as a child.”

“You know I’m not a child anymore, right?”

Shiro’s smile turned sultry. “I’ve noticed.”

Keith groaned. He lowered his head, allowing his hair to fall into his blushing face. “You idiot.”

Shiro chucked him under the chin, making him raise his head. “I know, baby, I know I’ve been an idiot. Forgive me?”

“You know I can’t resist those puppy eyes.” Keith sat back suddenly, remembering another man with the same puppy eyes. “Shiro, do you have siblings?”

Shiro looked taken aback by the sudden change in topic. “No, why?”

“It’s just… I met this guy the other day who really reminded me of you. He had the same expression as you do when you look abashed.”

“Really? Well, I’m not aware of any siblings. They do say everybody has at least one doppelganger in the world so maybe you met mine?”

Keith pulled a face. “Maybe.” He leaned in until his nose nearly touched Shiro’s. “So, you were saying you want me to forgive you for having made me wait so long for you, hm? How about you show me just how _sorry_ you truly are?”


	31. Chapter 31

“Well, you do look chipper this _afternoon_.”

Keith jumped guiltily. He dropped the box into the hole then glanced at Lance over his shoulder. Lance was leaning against the doorjamb of the shed, his silhouette haloed by the late afternoon sun. Although he couldn’t see it, Keith had no trouble hearing the grin in his voice.

Damn, was he glad he’d sent Shiro on ahead.

“Shit, Lance, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect… erm… things to be this… long.”

Lance laughed and walked in, crouching beside Keith. Of course he had a huge smirk on his face. “Don’t apologize, baby bro! You look well-satisfied and I’m happy for you! Did Shiro and you have—”

“No.”

Lance’s face fell. “You didn’t have fun? Don’t tell me he sucks in bed?”

Keith’s eyes widened. “N-no! That’s not what I meant!” He looked down at the hole in the ground, the cache where they’d been hiding their stuff for years. He could still hardly believe the words that came next: “He loves me. Lance, he said he loves me. And I said it back. Gosh, I think it means we’re together now…”

For a second, Lance only stared at him, gaping. Then, his face broke into a grin and he pulled Keith against him, hugging him tight and slapping his back, laughing. “What! Are you serious?! Keith, this is amazing!” He pushed him back, hands on Keith’s shoulders. “I’m so happy for you!”

“I can hardly believe it,” Keith mumbled. “I keep expecting to wake up any moment and find out it’s just a dream.”

Lance shook him gently. “That’s not a dream, I promise you, baby bro. It’s all real.” His eyes and voice went soft. “Believe it, Keith. You deserve to be happy. It was about time Shiro realised how lucky he was to have you pining after him.”

“Shit. That means I’m Shiro’s boyfriend. He’s my boyfriend.”

Lance burst into laughter, sounding genuinely delighted. For some reason, this brought home the truth. This wasn’t a dream, this was reality. The night, the morning, hell, it had all been real. Keith’s whole body tingled with remembrance. His soul suddenly felt too big for his skin. He was pulled into Lance’s familiar embrace and he allowed it. Too much was happening inside his heart and mind for him to make sense of. He had no idea what this all meant.

“You’re just happy,” Lance supplied helpfully. “Go ahead, feel it.”

Happiness? Keith had been happy before, of course. He’d been happy with his father, he’d been happy with Shiro and Adam, he’d been happy with Lance and his family, he’d even been happy with Wor. What was different this time? Why was this so all-consuming? Why did it feel like it was pulling him apart and then putting him back together again? It was warm and cold and up and down all at the same time. He said nothing, closing his eyes, embracing the confusion because he knew it wouldn’t last, because he knew it wasn’t bad. This was kind of… exciting, like he’d found himself a new passion, a new hobby that he was eager to explore. It was like when he was riding his hoverbike at full speed without fear of what might happen if he crashed. It was exhilarating.

“I’m lame,” Keith grumbled, hiding his face in the folds of Lance’s jacket. “I’m happy because I have a boyfriend. What am I, twelve?”

“You’ve got the emotional range of a twelve-year-old, so yeah, that makes sense. You’ve been pining after this guy for years so it’s okay to be happy. He’s a great guy, your Shiro, for what little I know of him. He seems kind and smart. He’s a policeman, but we can’t hold it against him. And I suppose he’s good-looking. Like, unfairly so?”

Keith chuckled before pulling back. “Thanks, Lance. It’s just…”

“Overwhelming? Yeah, it can be.” Lance offered a smile. “I’m just so happy for you, Keith.” He pulled a face then mock-shivered. “Just… don’t tell him your big bro will kick his ass if he’s mean to you, okay? I doubt I could do that even on the best of days.”

“Urgh, you’re ridiculous. This won’t happen, I promise.” He heaved a sigh. “So, how was Monica?”

“Who? Oh! Yeah, no, I don’t know. I didn’t go to her. I went to see Katarzyna. I missed her.”

“You missed her? But you saw her like in the morning? Oh, look at you, being all daddy-like. Fatherhood looks good on you, Lance. I’ve always known you’d be a great dad.”

Lance smiled sheepishly. “Heh, I guess? It’s great practice for when I’ll have kids myself.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is. Anyway, help me finish this up, then we can go.” Keith crouched beside the hole again. “I hope no one finds this.”

“What about your bike?”

Together, they buried the box carefully, making sure the earth settled down perfectly. The beaten-earth floor of the shed was compact and it seemed that the hole they’d dug showed no matter how they looked.

“I’ll leave it here. I’ve removed a few parts so I hope it’ll be too unappealing to steal. It’s an old thing, anyway, probably not worth the effort of taking it out of here.” He tugged the bike over the hole, hiding it better. “There’s nothing else I can do.”

Lance said nothing. He knew what the bike meant to Keith so he knew what it cost to leave it behind. What could he do, though? It wouldn’t be useful where they were going and Keith doubted they had much room to spare for an old, useless vehicle. Anyway, if it did protect their meagre belongings while it got stolen, it would have served its purpose.

They stood there shoulder to shoulder, admiring their handy work. As it was wont to do, reality was slowly asserting itself back on Keith. The last few magical hours were slowly dissipating, reminding him of the harsh truth. Shiro and he might be together, that sadly fixed nothing. Low town was still stuck in a chokehold, being contested over by two uncaring men. It was war. It was dangerous. People would die. Hell, _he_ might die—Lotor intended to use him, after all. He wouldn’t stay safe behind their allies.

He retrieved his gym bag and they slowly marched away from their old tenement building. As if awakening from a dream, Keith saw anew the unnatural stillness of his neighbourhood. Those who could flee had done so and those who couldn’t had barricaded themselves. The streets were empty. Shops that had been opened yesterday were now boarded over. Grocery stores had been robbed to the last of their produce. No doubt looters were waiting for the cover of night to search those places that still offered some products. When those were empty, they would turn their gaze to the houses of civilians. How bad it got would depend on how long the war lasted, Keith supposed. Knowing both belligerents, it could be over in a flash or it could drag on for years.

The closer they got to Lotor’s HQ, the tighter the security was. Cleverly hidden Galra men and women hid in every shadowed corner, watching their approach. Keith felt their eyes like a physical thing pressing at the back of his neck. They knew Lance and him or they would have been dead a long time ago. They eventually reached the security perimeter where a tall fence had been quickly erected. Made of rubbles and any other salvaged material, it looked to have sprung out the bowels of the earth overnight. Checkpoints dotted the area to allow the authorized personnel in. Once again, Keith felt as if he were stuck in an action movie taking place in a warzone. He couldn’t get used to the Galra’s fancy spacesuits coupled with their outdated, medieval weapons. If they saw the ridiculousness of it, they hid it well.

“This is so weird,” Lance mumbled as they were escorted to the HQ.

Keith could only nod. The eerie silence that surrounded the place made his skin crawl. Low town was never this silent. He missed the buzz of conversation, the bustle of people hurrying somewhere, the cries of children. Looking at the massacred buildings, it gave him an impression of the end of the world, like they were the only surviving ones. He didn’t like it—it made him wonder if Sven’s world looked like that, that place that had been destroyed by the Galras.

If the outside had been quiet, the inside of the HQ was deafening. Dozens of people were talking together, standing around tables and computers and maps. The air was stale with sweat and old dust, humid with so many bodies packed together. Keith saw that most of the place had been turned into a sort of refugee camp—at least a hundred of people had been pushed to one side with their meagre belongings. Crowded cheek by jowl, they all looked completely stunned. Most of them were covered in dirt, their skin bruised and cut. Apparently, there had been an attack last night by Commander Sendak. He’d tried to encroach into Lotor’s territory and these people had been collateral damage. Lotor had taken them in, promising shelter and food. There were a lot of children, crying and whimpering and asking for their missing parents. Amongst the crowd of refugees, Keith spotted Veronica, Lance’s sister. As a nurse, she made it her duty to help anyone in need. She’d roped her mother in to help as well as a few other volunteers. Together, they were looking after the wounded and distributing some rations.

Lance’s family was amongst the group, all looking glum. None of them was very happy to be here, Lance told Keith in a whisper. Keith wasn’t much surprised. Still, he didn’t apologize for more or less forcing them to move here—at least they’d be safe, close enough so he could keep an eye on them.

“Ah, there you are!” Lotor exclaimed once he spotted Keith, beckoning him closer. “I was afraid you’d run away.”

“I don’t do that,” Keith grumbled. “What is it?”

With Lotor were his female bodyguards as well as Shiro and a few other Galras Keith had never seen before. Shiro offered him a small, encouraging smile and rested his hand on his shoulder. The contact made Keith’s skin tingle with remembrance. For a few seconds, he was so lost in the memories of what had happened this morning that he didn’t hear what Lotor was saying. He wanted to get out of here, to grab Shiro’s hand and drag him away so they could be on their own. One night wasn’t enough. He felt strangely detached from what was happening, unable to focus. As if sensing this, Shiro’s grip tightened minutely, grounding him. Keith blinked. Lotor was looking at him with an eyebrow raised, evidently waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked,” Lotor drawled, “if you were ready to see some action.”

“Oh. What action?”

The women with Lotor giggled. The big one called Zethrid made a rude comment. Keith glared at her.

Lotor heaved a sigh. “This is what I get for trying to work with civilians… Very well, Keith, allow me to start again for your benefit.” He pointed to the hologram of a map of low town. “This is low town, I trust you recognize it? We are over here, and we believe Sendak’s own command centre is about there, near the bridge of course. We wish to reconnoitre the sector around here.” He waved his hand in a circle between their two camps. “The reason is simple: Allura tells me there are lay lines of quintessence just beneath the surface. We wish to use this quintessence to bring back electricity to low town. Sendak has brought his own supply of quintessence and I wouldn’t want to be beaten by him simply because his soldiers won’t freeze to death during the night. This is the first of many such assignments before we can even begin to think of attacking.”

Keith frowned. “All right. So you want me to take Allura there.”

“Yes. We sadly don’t know whether Sendak is aware of these lay lines and we need to secure them before he does. It is paramount that we do. I’d prefer a stealthy approach—I’d rather not fight for this.”

Keith observed the map—he had a good idea of where the lines might be. Not too far from Uncle Pedro’s old home, actually.

“Once we are there,” Allura said, taking over for Lotor. “I shall connect the lines with an old water pipe that runs directly under our feet. Thanks to Pidge’s and Hunk’s help, we’ve been able to build a generator that should translate the quintessence into usable power.”

“A water pipe?” Keith asked. “Can it really transport quintessence?”

Allura nodded. “Yes. Using alchemy, I’ll change its composition so it can withstand it.”

“I’m sorry, what? Alchemy?”

Allura huffed out a breath, as if trying to come up with a way to explain some difficult concept. “Alchemy is the power to transform. A lot of Alteans are alchemists. My father was one, probably one of the best who ever lived, and I studied under him before our planet was destroyed. I am in no way near his level of mastery, but I know enough to be of help in this. Lotor and Fala can also practice it.”

“Uh, okay,” Keith said, because what else could he say?

Aliens who could control thoughts and dematerialise at will, others who could shapeshift and change matter, Keith was starting to feel like humans really had little to offer the universe compared to that.

“The how doesn’t really matter,” Lotor said, sounding amused at his perplexity. “Your role in this, Keith, is to lead Allura to the place marked on this map, preferably undetected.” He waved his hand and the map shifted—tiny white dots appeared seemingly randomly. “Those are the last known emplacements of Sendak’s patrols. Avoid them at all costs. I’d rather you bring Allura back in one piece.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to secure the location and then bring Allura?” Keith asked. “It might be difficult to get a non-combatant there, especially if there are patrols.”

Allura offered him a knowing smile. “Oh, I can fight, Keith, don’t worry on my account.”

“Right. For this mission, I’ve selected four of my—”

“Prince Lotor, excuse me,” the woman named Krolia interrupted. “I would like to be on this assignment.”

Lotor raised an eyebrow while Ezor and Zethrid made proper sounds of surprise.

“Oh! So Krolia likes the pretty boy with the flippity hair?” Ezor asked in a singsong voice.

“She likes them young, apparently!” Zethrid added with a guffaw.

Krolia looked pissed rather than amused at these antics. “No, that’s not it. This is a serious mission and it requires a serious soldier to accomplish it, which neither of you are.”

Keith had no idea why they were arguing about this since the last word belonged to Lotor. The prince was peering between Krolia and him, his eyes narrowed and a tiny, half-smile on his face as if he’d just guessed something. Keith glared at him, not liking this. He felt as if he were the butt of the joke somehow.

“Very well,” Lotor declared, cutting short the women’s bickering. “Krolia, you shall accompany him.” He smirked at Keith. “Judging by the way you’re clinging to Officer Shirogane, I suspect you’d like him to accompany you as well?”

“Sure,” Keith mumbled, face hot when he realised how close to Shiro he was standing. “I might know someone else who can help, too.”

“Oh? Who is it?”

“I’ll introduce you later if he accepts to come.”

Lotor dismissed them so they could get ready. Keith felt overwhelmed by the whole thing, like this wasn’t real. Everybody around him was acting so soldiery and here he was, floundering, totally unequipped to deal with what was coming. He stepped away from the group while Shiro exchanged a few words with Krolia and took out the PDA Sven had given him. He said they could contact each other through it and, miracle of miracle, the text Keith sent him didn’t rebound. The PDA couldn’t connect to the IG, but it apparently worked nonetheless. The only contact in it was Sven’s. There was nothing else on its hard drive. He wondered if he could use it to contact Adam before thinking better of it. No, he didn’t know this technology and he didn’t want to put Adam in trouble by being reckless. If this break in communications really was Sven’s fault, he’d surely have a way around it. With his help, Lotor might be able to establish a way to communicate with his people that Sendak wouldn’t be able to pick on.

“Keith, excuse me.”

He looked up from the PDA to see the Galra woman Krolia standing in front of him. Her impassive face made it impossible to read her thoughts. He was slightly intimated by her aura of utter calm, like nothing happening around her could bother her. Contrary to Ezor and Zethrid, she truly appeared to be a good solider, a bit like Axca.

She handed him a bundle of clothes. “Your uniform.”

“My what?”

“Uniform. Prince Lotor wishes for you to wear one so you can move around his people more easily.”

“Uh, okay?” It also meant Sendak’s soldiers would know he sided with Lotor if he were captured. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. We shall be leaving in an hour. Don’t hesitate to tell me if you wish to visit the armory before our departure.”

“I don’t need to. I already have a knife.”

An odd expression crossed her face, too rapidly smoothed away for Keith to read. “Very well.”

She left him then, leaving him puzzled by the whole encounter—she’d looked as if she wanted to say something more. Maybe she was shy? Whatever. He looked at the garments in his arms, realising the uniform was similar to the one worn by the rest of the group. The blueish-black cloth felt odd between his fingers; soft, thin, yielding, looking like it wouldn’t stop a determined flea. The pieces of reinforced Kevlar-like fabric were much sturdier. They didn’t bend in his fingers no matter how hard he pressed on them. He’d much rather be wearing his own garments, but he supposed he saw the point of a uniform. It couldn’t be as flimsy as he made it out to be if every one of Lotor’s soldier wore it.

He found a darkened corner to change away from prying eyes. There were two bathrooms with three stalls each, all of them of course occupied, so he had to make do with his shadowed alcove. As he looked the uniform over, he wondered how he was going to be fitting into it—it looked way too small for his frame, as if it were made for a child.

“Do you need help with this?” Krolia asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

Keith was proud of himself when he didn’t jump. He almost told her that he was fine. Almost. Because it would be much more embarrassing to try figuring it out by himself, failing, then asking her.

As it turned on, putting on the bodysuit was as easy as putting on pajamas. It fit him perfectly, the fabric stretching easily over his limbs. He made a show of not being embarrassed to change in front of Krolia—he was used of being seen naked, just not by women. Her professional approach to the whole thing made it clinical, as if she were just a doctor checking him out. Her eyes took in the scars that covered his skin, her lips pressed together, her expression once again unreadable. She helped him fasten the breastplate over his chest, securing it around his ribs until it fit snugly, then the shin-guards and vambraces.

When she stepped back to admire her handiwork, he saw that she wasn’t looking pleased at all. He looked down at himself, unsure of what to make of the whole thing himself. He felt… weird. The suit was tight, hugging his body perhaps a tad too much for modesty. He had to admit it was comfortable as hell however—the perfect fit made it easy to move in.

It had to be immodest because Shiro literally dropped his PDA on the floor when he saw Keith. Heads turned and eyes stared as Keith tried his damn best not to squirm on the spot, face hot. Shit, and here he thought he was used to attention.

“That’s even better than the see-through pants,” Lance commented with a huge grin on his face.

“The what?!” Shiro gasped, eyes going wide as a blush spread on his cheeks.

“Lance, please,” Keith groaned.

“Now, please,” Lotor interrupted, smirking in amusement. “Let’s stop ourselves from ogling Keith’s nice figure and focus on what we have to do.”

He’d spoken loud enough that those who hadn’t been staring turned to look. Keith wanted to murder the prince on the spot. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and pretended to be unbothered by the whole thing. Soon enough, most people returned to their activities. Lotor’s people were apparently used to his antics. Keith noticed absentmindedly that none of these blokes were ugly. Lotor apparently liked to surround himself with good-looking people, especially women. There had to be three times more female aliens than males, all of them wearing the same, tight bodysuit as Keith did. He suddenly understood Lance’s eagerness to come back here. Take off the armour and this place could almost look like a brothel.

“It’s not fair,” Keith complained in a low voice to Shiro, “why don’t _you_ have a suit like that?”

“Mine’s fine.”

Sure, it was fine—tight and muscle-hugging and distracting. Keith kept glancing at Shiro out the corner of his eye. When their eyes met, he almost preened—so Shiro wasn’t above ogling either. The poor guy blushed, looking mortified as if he hadn’t seen Keith naked a few hours ago. Oops, better not have this kind of thoughts. Those pants definitely weren’t loose enough to hide a boner.

“All right, people,” Lotor said once he finally had their attention. “I trust you all are ready? Good. As you all know, communications are broken so we won’t know if you get into trouble. What we have, however, is this.” He produced a gun-shaped object made of some dark material. “It’s a flare-gun, I believe. It is a relic so I’m not sure of its reliability. Fire it up at the sky and a bright, red flare will appear to indicate your position.” He handed it to Keith. “Use it if you find yourself in trouble. I doubt Sendak will understand the meaning of it.”

Lance, who’d been listening in, said: “Uh, reminds me of something.”

“What?” Lotor asked, annoyed to be interrupted.

“It reminds me of a gun.”

“It is a flare- _gun_ , child. Now, I believe you haven’t been assigned to this mission, so you better return to your people.”

Keith could tell Lance was on to something. He had that look on his face that meant he was trying to remember. He obeyed Lotor, stepping away, frowning in thought. Keith glanced at him, making a mental note to talk to him later about it. Lance could be dense, but he wasn’t nearly as dumb as people believed. There could be a good idea brewing in that brain of his.

“So, as I was saying before we were interrupted,” Lotor continued, “We aren’t certain of the reliability of the flare-gun, so don’t count too much on it.”

“Duly noted,” Keith said, tucking the object into the back of his belt, next to his knife. “I wonder about those suits. Are they just for show?”

Lotor laughed. Then, almost faster than the eye could see, he unsheathed a knife from his belt and cut Keith on the upper arm. Keith jerked back, yelping, his hand going to the wo—wait. There was nothing. He looked down where the blade had nicked him. There was no tear in the fabric. He hadn’t even felt the pressure of the knife.

Shiro took a threatening step towards the prince who just grinned at him, unafraid.

“Those suits are made for protection,” he explained, laughing at their discomfiture. “Sure, it won’t save you if you fall from a great height or get buried beneath rocks, but it’ll stop a blade and even the blast from a blaster gun. It will also make it easier for you to fight without getting hurt. No more scraped knuckles or wounded shins.”

Keith looked down at his gloved hands in wonder. If that were the truth, he no longer resented having to wear the bodysuit, no matter how tight it was.

“If you ask nicely enough, I could even give you the one you’re wearing as a gift,” Lotor said with a wink.

“I’ll bring back Allura alive after she’s completed her task, so that’ll be my way of asking nicely.”

Lotor laughed, sounding genuinely surprised. “You have spunk! I like you, little half-breed! Now go, and make sure you come back in one piece.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning:  
> -Violence

Keith added another reason why he wanted to keep the suit: it was _warm_. He’d feared he’d freeze standing up as soon as he set foot outside, but the bodysuit regulated his body temperature well enough that he didn’t feel the cold. There was even a hood he could pull over his head to protect his face.

As soon as they were out of the building, he took Sven’s PDA out and checked it—there was an unread text. Sven agreed to meet him a few blocks from their objective. Good. Keith intended to do his very best to get into Lotor’s good graces and ingratiate himself to the prince. The guy was rumoured to be fair so if Keith ever had a favour to ask, he wanted to be able to do so. Surely, Lotor couldn’t refuse him anything if he brought him a tech-savvy guy who could fix their communications. And who could fight.

He put the PDA away as he bent his thoughts on what was to come. Lotor wanted Allura to be brought to some street corner so she could have access to a pipe or something of the sort. The magical mojo she had to perform afterward didn’t matter to Keith—his part of the job was to get her there and bring her back safely. According to the map of the dispositions of Sendak’s sentries, it wouldn’t be that easy. The area was well-patrolled, whether by sheer, dumb, bad luck or because Sendak knew there was a large source of quintessence there. Lotor had told them not to engage if the place was well-guarded so he had to have a backup plan.

“How long do you think it’ll take you to… do what you have to do?” Keith asked Allura as they walked.

Just like him, she wore one of those bodysuits and armour. It made her look like some warrior princess out of a novel. She managed to look both regal and deadly in the overly-tight clothes that showed her willowy form. Keith was pretty sure no man would ever dare give her trouble for it.

“Well, it depends on a number of factors, but I’d say fifteen minutes tops.”

“All right.”

“You know the area well?” Krolia asked.

“Yeah. A guy I knew lived there. I have a pretty good idea of the lay of the land.”

As dusk neared, the shadows thrown by the squat buildings lengthened. The light had a greyish quality to it, the sunrays being filtered by thick dark clouds. The humidity had died to be replaced by a cold, harsh wind that tugged at loose cloth and hair. Keith felt the bite of it against his unprotected face. There were a few people on the streets, scared-looking men and women who scuttled out of sight as soon as he glanced in their direction. In the distance, he saw a plume of orange smoke rising—something was burning merrily. He tried not to think about the fact that the fire seemed to be raging dangerously close to his flat. It was okay if it burned down, he told himself. He couldn’t worry about that, couldn’t spare a thought for his neighbours and hope they’d be all right.  

As if sensing his anguish, Shiro rested a broad palm on his back. The smile he bestowed upon Keith could only be described as breathtaking. His eyes were so full of kindness it made Keith yearn to pull him into a hug. He relaxed slightly under the touch, allowing himself to be comforted by it.

They left the secured perimeter of Lotor’s HQ to enter the no-man’s-land. It was time to be careful now—Lotor’s scouts had reported no patrols here, but they couldn’t be too sure. Keith took the lead. A part of him felt slightly foolish at all this skulking around. The landscape was too similar to what it had been a week ago for him to take all this seriously. It felt as if they were playing some game, like they were pretending for fun. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. He pictured the area in his mind, trying to find the best spots to advance towards their goal while remaining unnoticed.

One thing that might be to their advantage was the fact that low town had been built haphazardly. The streets weren’t straight. Alleyways met others at weird angles. There were runarounds that lead to nowhere and buildings that had been erected in the middle of an intersection. Whole streets had been blocked by debris or trashcans and nobody had ever bothered to clean the mess away. Cul-de-sacs actually opened on a square while a back alley ended in a dead-end. Newcomers complained endlessly about this, about the ever changing landscape. One morning, one street was open and, a week later, it had been blocked for some reason. Thanks to his job, Keith had gotten good at navigating this maze. He knew the best hideouts and lookout posts to be out of sight.

He kept to the narrowest streets possible in case they stumbled upon a patrol. In these confines, even if they were outnumbered, at least they couldn’t get outflanked. His breath puffed in tiny white clouds in front of his face. He kept an ear cocked to any sound out of place. The creepy silence of an abandoned city sent shivers down his back. He thought he heard noises in the distance, but with the blowing wind, it was almost impossible to pinpoint the direction from which they came. The crooked streets also played against them because it gave them no clear line of vision. Even if he peeked around a corner, there were too many obstacles hindering his view for him to assess any potential danger. He thought about using the flat roofs before deciding against it—outlining himself against the grey sky was a sure way to get spotted.

When he heard the sound of footsteps ahead, he gestured at the others to stop. They all paused and pressed themselves against a wall, huddling in the shadows. A group of Galras wearing the CTAC uniform jogged past. There were six of them, all armed to the teeth. They seemed to be hurrying somewhere rather than patrolling the area so Keith guessed it would be safe to move on when they were out of sight. Judging by the direction they’d taken, they were moving away from the bridge, away from their own control centre.

After a few minutes of skulking from shadow to shadow, they entered the block where lay lines for the quintessence were. Here, the streets were straighter and the houses of an even height. The problem was that Sendak had either known Lotor would send people here or he’d just been lucky, because there were half a dozen Galras camped in an abandoned house. They’d torn off the wood used to board up the windows and Keith easily saw them seated around a campfire. It seemed to be the only inhabited dwelling in the vicinity—all other windows were darkened. The inhabitants had been wise enough to move or, more likely, they’d been chased away by Sendak’s men.

Keith checked the time on his PDA. “All right, we wait here ten minutes.”

“Why?” Allura asked, frowning. “We’re almost there, I can feel it.”

“I’m waiting for someone. We’re going to need backup.” He pointed towards the occupied house. “Our destination is in the courtyard of that house. We’ll need to clear off the Galras.”

“Waiting for someone?”

“Yes. As I said, we’re going to need backup.”

“Who is it?” Shiro asked.

They all talked in low voices, crouching on the ground and keeping an eye on the Galras. Keith wanted to roll his eyes at all the questions—Lotor had put him in charge, why were they questioning him now? He kept his temper in check—Shiro should be in charge, he was the experienced one.

“A guy named Sven,” Keith explained. “Trust me, he’s the perfect type to deal with this kind of situation.”

“You should have run this by Prince Lotor first,” Shiro chided gently.

“If he trusts me enough to put me in charge, he should trust me enough to know who I can work with.”

Shiro smiled crookedly, as if conceding a point. If they’d been alone, Keith would have kissed him, dangerous situation or not. Allura didn’t look very approving of all this while Krolia kept glancing between Keith and Shiro suspiciously. Keith didn’t like her suspicious stare. What was wrong with her? All throughout the trek here, he’d felt her eyes boring into the back of his neck. Maybe she didn’t approve of Lotor’s choice of putting him in charge of this operation—except that she’d volunteered to come. Out of mistrust, perhaps? She probably suspected he didn’t have Lotor’s best interests in mind and she wanted to keep an eye on him so he didn’t jeopardize the whole thing. He understood, he supposed, he just wished she spoke her mind rather than just stare at him.

After checking the time again on his PDA, Keith motioned at the others to stay where they were and hurried away, keeping out of line of sight of the occupied house. Shiro hissed at him to come back, but Keith didn’t listen. He didn’t want to miss Sven. He hadn’t lied—this guy was the perfect one for this kind of mission. Furthermore, he might be able to establish a mean of communications for Lotor’s people and that was something that might give them an edge over Sendak.

He found the other man a few streets away, at exactly the spot he’d chosen. No matter how careful he tried to be, Sven heard him approach. If Keith hadn’t known to look for him, he might have missed him—Sven stood like a statue in the shadows, barely moving, almost invisible. Dressed in black as he was, he might have been a shadow himself.

Once again, as soon as Keith saw his face, he immediately thought of Shiro. Surely it couldn’t be coincidental that these two looked alike so much. They could be brothers!

Although Sven’s face remained a cool mask, his eyes warmed as soon as they alighted on Keith.

“Good, you came,” Keith said, honestly pleased.

“Of course. I told you I would. You are searching for the quintessence, right?”

“Is there something you don’t know?”

Sven shrugged. “A lot, actually. I simply put two and two together—Prince Lotor needs a reliable source of energy and there’s plenty of quintessence here.”

“Right, because quintessence is the first thing that pops into anyone’s mind when they think of energy.”

“Probably not.”

He didn’t elaborate. Keith narrowed his eyes at him before deciding that having a conversation about Sven’s origins right here right now might not be the best idea. Shiro and the others would fret if he let them alone for too long. He had to choose whether he trusted Sven or not. Keith wasn’t the type of person to trust easily. He didn’t want to have faith in Sven, yet he couldn’t stop himself. There was something disturbingly earnest in the man’s disposition. He was so open that Keith felt he’d tell him anything he asked, even his deepest, darkest secret. Shit.

“Come on, we need your help,” he grumbled.

Sven didn’t ask who _we_ was. He simply followed Keith the way he’d come. Despite his size, he barely made a sound as he walked. His demeanour was alert, eyes roaming around, ear cocked. He was used to this. Skulking about seemed to be second nature to him. Keith didn’t know whether to be comforted by this or not. At least it would serve his purpose for the moment.

They quickly rejoined the others. As he had expected, they were fretting, talking in low voices. Krolia spotted Keith and Sven first. If she were surprised by their reappearance, she didn’t show it. Allura looked relieved. Shiro’s face registered joy then uncertainty when he spotted Sven standing behind Keith. Keith turned towards Sven, intending to introduce him quickly, but his expression arrested him. He looked… _flabbergasted_ as he stared at Shiro. Flabbergasted and a little frightened, like Shiro was some sort of apparition. Keith had never believed Sven could be this expressive, but the horror in his eyes was easily readable. He looked between the two of them, wondering if they might know each other. Shiro merely looked confused, perhaps a bit unsettled to be stared at that way. There was no flicker of recognition on his part while Sven looked as if he’d seen the ghost of his dead father rise out of his tomb.

“Do you two know each other?” Keith asked, puzzled.

Shiro shook his head. Sven also shook his head then looked away. Eyebrows lowered in a frown, he looked to be deep in thoughts.

Putting this out of his mind for the moment, Keith introduced them all quickly. It was getting dark by then and he wanted them to be out of the streets before nightfall.

The plan was simple: get rid of the Galra soldiers and then guard the place while Allura did what she had to do. It would have been preferable to do so without being noticed, but Keith didn’t see any way this could happen and neither did the others. They would have to take their chance, perhaps make it a bit sloppy so as to make it look like a random attack by civilians.

As if he hadn’t looked close to fainting a minute ago, Sven was back in the game quickly. He offered to go on ahead to scout the perimeter so they’d know exactly how many Galras they faced. At Keith’s nod, he hurried away in that noiseless way of his, blending in so perfectly with the shadows that Keith lost sight of him immediately. Damn, he was good.

“Allura, I want you to stay back here with Krolia while Shiro and I help Sven take down the guards,” Keith said.

Allura’s eyes widened. “But Keith, I can fight!”

“That’s not the point. The whole goal of the thing is to get you to that pipe so you can use your alchemy to bring quintessence to the HQ. We can’t do that if you’re wounded.”

Her eyebrows lowered in an annoyed frown. “I know. I just wish to help.”

“Keith is right, princess,” Shiro said gently. “This operation cannot succeed if you’re wounded or hurt. The way Prince Lotor talked, you’re the only one who can do what’s necessary.”

She knew he was right, Keith could tell by the way she gritted her teeth not to argue. She gave a sharp nod of acquiescence, as did Krolia. Krolia didn’t look happy with the plan either—she was just too much of a good soldier to complain out loud. Keith wondered how Lotor managed to get anything done if every one of his subordinates wanted to argue everything. Maybe he was simply that much better of a leader.

They didn’t have to wait for Sven long—they were caught before the man came back. They were crouching on the ground, ready to spring into action, and a group of three Galras literally walked _on_ them. The first unsuspecting Galra tripped over Shiro and fell over Keith with a yelp of surprise. He saw it all happening out the corner of his eye. Before he had time to react, the big Galra was crushing him against the wet asphalt, knocking the breath out of his chest. Shouts of dismay exploded.

Keith managed to get one knee under him and pushed back, throwing his elbow back at the same time. It crunched against an unprotected face. The Galra groaned in pain, trying to get up and untangle herself from him at the same time. It probably would have been funny in other circumstances. He elbowed her again, in the ribs this time. Although her armour protected her, it was enough to push her back sufficiently so he could get on his feet. As he did so, Allura was already on the woman, grabbing her by the front of her suit and _throwing_ her against the wall. She did just that: she grabbed the Galra and threw her bodily so hard the bricks of the wall crumbled. Keith barely had time to marvel at this: the noise had attracted the attention of the Galras inside the house.

“Krolia, stay with Allura! Shiro, let’s go!”

Not waiting to see if Shiro followed, Keith rushed towards the house. He couldn’t let Sven face six of them on his own. He crossed the street at a run and threw himself through the open window when he saw a Galra hurrying by. He hit the other man shoulder first and the force of it sent them sprawling to the floor. Keith’s hand came dangerously close to the campfire as he rolled to his feet, unsheathing his knife. He swore under his breath when he realised his mistake: there hadn’t been six Galras, there were more. A few had been asleep, out of sight, and were just getting up, alerted by all the noise. Three of them were now staring at Keith in dismay, their yellow eyes wide, all traces of sleep vanished. He should have waited for Sven to come back with an accurate body count.

He grinned ruefully at his rookie mistake and charged the nearest Galra with a shout. It did surprise her enough for him to get close enough to slash at her. The blade caught the front of her uniform as she staggered back. A second Galra rushed in, trying to grab him. He evaded easily, ducking under the extended arm and slamming his fist into an unprotected chest. Spit hit his face as the breath whooshed out of the Galra’s lungs. He followed this with an uppercut to the jaw. This would have floored a human being. A Galra was another thing entirely—this one just reeled back, arms flailing. Keith would have punched him again if the third Galra hadn’t grabbed him from behind. Arms closed around his neck, hauling him off his feet. He shifted his grip on his knife and slashed back wildly. His blade caught into something and warm liquid spurted all over his hand. With a shout, the Galra holding him let him go. His hands went to his bleeding face.

Keith threw himself away as the female Galra tried to grab him. She’d had the presence of mind to grab her baton before going after him. He evaded two blows before his back hit the far corner, pinning him in. She smirked at him, sharp canines glistening in the orange light of the campfire. The other Galra stayed behind her, ready to catch him if he somehow managed to slip from her grasp. Great. Where were Shiro and Sven, damn it? He thought he heard the sound of a scuffle coming from outside.

It struck him as the Galra woman attacked that they weren’t trying to kill him—they wanted to _capture_ him. This spurred him on to fight harder. No way in hell was he going to be a prisoner of Sendak’s. He’d rather die than be submitted to the kind of torture that awaited him. She tried to club him over the head with her baton. She was fast and her long arms gave her a long reach, far longer than his. He slipped beneath her arm, trying to knife her in the chest, but she managed to avoid the blow by twisting her body. It was just enough to allow him an escape route. He went for it, her fingers nearly grasping his arm. He careened into the other Galra’s arms without enough force to send him sprawling. He kneed him in the crotch and, as he bent instinctively forward in howling pain, kneed him in the face. Blood spurted from a broken nose all over his suit.

He was nearly at the door when the Galra whose face he’d slashed caught him. Long, clawed fingers grabbed a hold of his hair, pulling him back with such force stars of pain burst behind his eyes. Out of reflex, he grabbed the wrist of the Galra, dropping his knife, trying to alleviate the pressure on his scalp. He trashed, growling, kicking his feet without much success. He was thrown across the room where he slammed into an abandoned bookshelf. The old, dried wood shattered upon impact, showering him with splinters. The world titled for a moment as he tried to regain his breathing. He felt as if his head had been dipped into liquid fire. His vision cleared just enough for him to see the kick coming. He raised his arms protectively. The blow sent him crashing anew into the ruined bookshelf. Pain exploded all around him as his head smacked against some hard surface. Colours swirled behind his eyelids as blood rushed in his ears.

He dodged the next kick only to be slapped in the face. Long nails raked his cheek, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He tasted blood. He refused to be beaten down. He caught the punch aimed at his nose, diverting it away. Next, the baton wielded by the female Galra cracked across his shoulder. The armour took most of the force of the blow. This seemed to surprise her—it gave him the split second he needed to reach out, grab her wrist, and twist it savagely until she dropped her weapon with a yowl. He caught it as it fell and slammed it against her unprotected knee. A popping sound, and she fell to the ground, howling in pain.

Keith stepped on her prone body and used this leverage to crack the baton into the nose of the Galra with the ruined face. He deflected the blow at the last second, but it had enough force to pain him nonetheless. The Galra staggered back, more out of surprise at this sudden reversal of situation than anything. Keith tried to hit him again, but he caught the baton and wrenched it out of his hand. He let it go—he’d just gotten the opening he needed. He dove between the man’s legs and grabbed his knife off the floor. The man bent forward, trying to catch him. Keith jumped to his feet while the Galra was unbalanced, the merest nudge sending him sprawling face first into the campfire. The flames eagerly leaped at his hairy face, drawing a blood-curdling scream of pain from the man.

Only one left standing. Keith, panting, regarded the last Galra. The man was looking around himself with an expression akin to fear, his gaze going from his fallen comrades to Keith. He looked uncertain whether to continue fighting or make a run for it.

Of course, he chose the former. Keith had never known a Galra to back down from a fight. The man growled and rushed him, fist raised in the air. Keith evaded the blow, stepping lightly to the side. They played at this for a few long seconds, Keith evading while the Galra tried to hit him. This was getting ridiculous—they were both tiring and their movements were sluggish. Blood dribbled down Keith’s cheek distractedly. He missed his step once, catching himself quickly.

And then the Galra was on him. Keith barely had time to comprehend what was happening that the Galra rushed him. It had been a feint—the bastard wasn’t nearly as tired as Keith was. He tried to avoid it, but the guy’s shoulder caught him in the sternum. He was sent flying through the open door, crashing on his back on the pavement. He bit his tongue bloody and, for long, terrifying seconds, he had no idea where up and down were. He rolled on the ground, body screaming in pain, brain screaming at him to get up. His sweat-soaked hair was in his eyes and there was blood and grit in his mouth. He hit something hard. The world kept rolling as his body stopped, jammed against a high fence.

Amidst tears of pain and a haze of confusion, he spotted the dark silhouette of the Galra approaching. Groaning, Keith forced his body to move. His limbs obeyed slowly, _so_ slowly. He’d never be up in time. A bright, silvery-blue glint a few feet away alerted him to the fact that he’d dropped his knife yet again. There was no way in hell he’d get it before the Galra reached him. Tired, he raised his fists, unwilling to go down without a fight. Where were the others, damn it? Had they been defeated? Fear stabbed through his heart—was Shiro all right? Had he been taken unawares like Keith had?

Keith watched dumbly as the Galra got closer, wicked grin on his face. There would be no capture—he saw murder in his yellow eyes. Perhaps it would be better to die than be held for questioning, but Keith had no intention of dying today. He’d fight back to his last breath, just like he had always done.

The Galra was smart enough not to rush this. He’d seen what his opponent could do so he knew to be wary. It was all for the better—the longer he dawdled, the clearer Keith’s vision got. He kept blinking, shaking his head as if it would help. The courtyard blurred somewhat.

The man attacked then, his long arms allowing him to attack from a relatively safe distance. Keith’s body felt stupid with pain and tiredness. He dug in his reserves—he had good stamina, he could do this. He ducked and parried and evaded blows, trying to preserve his strength. The ground underfoot was at least flat, but the creeping darkness of the evening made difficult for him to see details. His foot hit on something—he looked down out of reflex to see the unmoving body of another Galra.

Tiredness made him stupid. Taking his eyes away from his opponent had to be the dumbest thing to do during a fight. The half second it took for him to glance at the body was enough: a fist slipped past his defenses and crashed hard against his shoulder, throwing him off balance. He took a few steps back, wincing in pain, and his heel caught on an uneven cobblestone. He fell on his ass hard, jarring all the bones in his body. He evaded the kick aimed at his face, throwing himself to the side. The foot that would have broken his nose slammed into the flimsy wood of the fence, momentarily trapping the Galra. Keith got up, jumped on the Galra’s back, hooked his right arm around the man’s neck, and squeezed. It might have worked if the bastard hadn’t been built like a damn house—Keith’s weight dangling from around his neck seemed to barely affect him. He reached back, grabbed Keith by the hood of his suit, and threw him bodily across the yard.

The world spun while only one thought ran through Keith’s mind: don’t tense on impact. He expected to crash on the ground or against the wall of the house. Instead, his fall was broken by something relatively soft that grunted upon impact. He was more or less caught by two strong arms. Shiro. Shiro caught him mid-flight. It still hurt and Keith felt like he’d been whipped around like some cat. His ears rang and his eyes couldn’t focus clearly. Shiro had to help him stand up, both hands steadily on his shoulders.

Sven thankfully took out the last Galra soldier while Keith tried to regain his composure. Everything hurt like hell. He had no idea how long he’d been fighting—he tended to lose track of time whenever his life was on the line. It felt like forever, but he suspected he might have been only ten minutes.

“Are there any others?” he asked between panting breaths.

“No, it’s fine,” Shiro assured. “We should fetch Allura and Krolia.”

None of them moved. It took a couple of seconds for Keith to pick on the weird vibe. Shiro and Sven were glaring at each other mistrustfully.

“Sven, do it, please,” Keith said tiredly.

When Sven made to argue, Keith waved him off impatiently. Damn it, why was he the leader if nobody wanted to listen to him?

Once Sven was gone, Shiro’s demeanour softened. He barely looked dishevelled from the fight, the only sign of it being the scraped skin on the knuckles of his flesh hand. Had it been anyone else, Keith would have been jealous. As it stood, he wasn’t surprised—Shiro was a damn good fighter. Despite the disease ravaging his body, it was as if he had endless stamina, never getting tired or letting his guard down.

“Nice save, by the way,” Keith said. “Thanks for catching me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t help faster—I saw reinforcements coming so I dispatched them.” He touched the cut on Keith’s face. His fingers came away bloody. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, stupid Galra clawed me in the face. I’ll live.”

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Keith had to smile. “Shiro, I’m fine, I promise. It’s not my first fight.”

“I know, I know. Baby, you’re really strong. You’ve improved so much. I’m so proud of you.”

Pleased warmth spread through Keith’s body at the unexpected praise, making his limbs tingle. Shiro was never stingy with his praise, yet it sounded so sincere this time, like he was honestly surprised by Keith’s skills. All that time spent in the training hall was starting to pay off, apparently.

“It’s only because you’re a good teacher,” Keith demurred. He poked Shiro’s chest. “Next time, I want to see _you_ fight.”

Shiro laughed. “Let’s hope there won’t be another time.”

Keith’s smile faltered. “I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to say. You’re right, let’s hope there won’t be another time.”

Sven came back with Allura and Krolia. Both women looked kind of impressed by the number of bodies lying on the ground.

Allura took the leadership this time. She knelt with her palms flat against the ground, closing her eyes. For a few moments, nothing happened. Silence stretched. Her white eyebrows knitted in concentration. Whatever she felt had to be the wrong thing because she moved to another spot. She repeated the whole pattern half a dozen times before she found the right spot. The rest of them felt it when she did: the air shifted minutely, growing warmer as a gentle wind rose. The cobblestones beneath Allura’s fingers suddenly glowed a bright blue colour that turned the courtyard as bright as day.

“Here!” she exclaimed, overjoyed. “Let’s remove this cobblestone. The pipe we need is just below it.”

Shiro went to help her. He dug his prosthetic fingers into the dirt between two cobblestones and, apparently effortlessly, yanked the right one off. It came out in a shower of earth and muddy snow. The thick slab of brick seemed to weigh nothing in Shiro’s hand as he deposited away. The earth beneath it was loose so it was only a matter of minutes before he’d dug deeply enough to uncover an old, copper-coloured pipe. By then they were all staring into the hole, gaping as if they’d just found treasure. Keith had no idea what Allura did to this pipe: she rested her hands on it and it glowed. Lines like veins of light blue appeared all over its surface. The air vibrated with her magic. The few tufts of dead grass that grew around the cobblestones of the courtyard suddenly turned a lush green, growing in front of Keith’s disbelieving eyes. He couldn’t explain what he felt at that moment: it was like the spot upon which they were standing was _humming_ , thrumming with renewed life. It was both impressing and terrifying.

Keith stepped back, giving room for Allura to work. They had to be on the lookout for Galras—with that blue light erupting from the ground like a beacon, it wouldn’t be surprising if a whole regiment of them came to investigate. He posted himself by the fence where a chunk of wood had been torn off, allowing him to see the street. Everything was calm. He heard no sound in the near distance. Still, he hoped Allura would hurry—he had no idea how long their luck would hold. Surely that bright light could be seen all the way to upper town.

He wiped at his torn cheek with the back of his hand. He expected his glove to be smeared in blood. There was nothing. He touched his face again, confused. There was no pain. He could feel no furrows where the Galra man’s nails had raked him. Confused, he took out his PDA, turned on the front camera, and looked at himself on the screen. His skin was smooth, unbroken. What, had he hallucinated being clawed? There was some smudges of caked blood beneath his eye, actually the only indication he’d been in a fight at all. As he stood there, dumbfounded, he realised all the myriad pains that accompanied a fight were absent. No throbbing in his knuckles, no blooming wounds where he’d been punched. He felt good, healthy, like he’d just woken up from a good, long night. This wasn’t normal—surely he’d banged his head somewhere.

“You all right?” Shiro asked.

He came to stand beside him, hand resting casually on the small of his back. It seemed as if all of Keith’s nerves strained towards that point of contact. Shiro’s flesh and blood hand was big and strong, warm despite the cool temperature. It sent tingles up and down Keith’s spine. How had he forgotten that Shiro enjoyed public displays of affection? He remembered how Adam had hated those, never wanting to be touched when there was someone else to see it. Keith didn’t understand why it had embarrassed him so much—to him, it was like a dream come true, every touch of Shiro’s a confirmation that they were together, a reassurance that it was all true. He’d never minded being touched in public to start with and it seemed even better now that it was Shiro doing it.

“I’m fine. Shiro, is my face okay?”

Puzzled, Shiro looked at him more closely, eyes checking his features. “Yes?”

“Hm. I swear I got clawed in the face by one of the Galras.”

“Oh. It doesn’t show if you did.” Shiro nodded towards the other end of the courtyard where Sven stood with Krolia. “Is that man one of your friends?”

“Sven? Not particularly. He’s just an acquaintance. He seems to know a lot about what’s going on.”

Shiro said nothing, eyebrows lowered in a frown. His jaw was set in an expression of stubbornness Keith hadn’t seen often on him. He looked… calculating, as if he were weighing a difficult situation. It was unlike him—Shiro was usually welcoming to anyone. Keith knew he didn’t rough up the criminals he arrested, even the worst ones. Adam had once told him that one of the druggies Shiro had arrested had attacked him with a knife and Shiro had calmed him down with _words_. This wasn’t hard to imagine: the man had that effect on people. He had a way of using his voice in a soothing manner that cut through even the haze of some psychotic drug. There were days that, when at his lowest, Keith would call him just to listen to his voice.

“He’s fine,” Keith assured. “He’s helped us, hasn’t he?”

Except that he didn’t know that. Sure, Sven had helped them this once, that didn’t mean there would be a repeat. He was too secretive, too weird to be taken at face value. Still, Keith doubted he was a bad person.

He would have put it all out of his mind if not for the way Sven kept glancing at Shiro. The two men weighed each other from across the courtyard, the intensity of their gaze heavy like a physical thing. Sven’s expression was odd, a cross between confusion, hope, and distrust. He seemed to be wanting to talk to Keith without daring to approach while Shiro was near. Coming from another man, Keith would have associated it with jealousy. This wasn’t the case with Sven. He just wanted to _talk_ , and this in itself was weird for Keith. Men usually didn’t want to _talk_ to him unless it was to talk him into their bed. Maybe he was giving Sven too much leeway simply because he looked like Shiro so damn much. He had to resist the urge to put them side by side to study them.

Finally, Allura finished with her magical hocus-pocus. The light faded slowly until the darkness of evening settled back in fully. She remained kneeling on the ground, shoulders heaving as she took in deep breaths. Without having to be asked, Shiro went to her so he could replace the cobblestone. Keith hadn’t dreamt it: the grass on the ground was now a vibrant, healthy green.

“It is because of my alchemy,” Allura explained when prompted. “It brings light to the darkest corners. It breathes life.” She smiled tiredly at Keith. “It heals.”

His hand went to his cheek as his eyes widened. “Shit. So that’s why there’s no wound.”

“Yes. You were close enough to be healed when I started.”

“It’s amazing, princess,” Shiro said. “You can heal.”

Allura laughed. “It’s not quite that, I’m afraid. Fala is a healer. My magic is slightly different. I can heal to a certain extent, but I wouldn’t know how to fix a mortal wound.”

“Does this mean everything is set? We can go back?” Krolia asked, her tone businesslike.

Allura nodded, looking proud of her work. So, if everything went according to plan, it meant there would be electricity at the HQ from now on.

They went back.


	33. Chapter 33

After Keith explained to Lotor who Sven was, the prince nearly threw himself upon the newcomer, dragging him away to have a long conversation with his other engineers. The look Sven threw him as Keith watched him being dragged away could be described as _betrayed_. He’d been warned: if he accepted to follow Keith, he’d have to tell the truth to Lotor. There was simply no way they could afford to let an opportunity to re-establish communications go by. Sven hadn’t been certain at first before grudgingly accepting.

Fala fell on Allura the second she stepped into the HQ. Her pale face brightened the second she saw her princess and she dragged her away, babbling about Allura needing to rest. Keith approved: although she’d hidden it cleverly, he had seen the bone-deep weariness inside her. Whatever magic she’d summoned had drained a lot of her energy. Judging by Fala’s reaction, it wasn’t dangerous, nothing that a good night’s sleep couldn’t cure. Keith watched them go, still amazed by everything he’d learned that evening. Whatever Allura had done to that pipe appeared to be working. There was light inside the HQ, thanks to a machine Hunk and Pidge had built alongside some of Lotor’s own engineers. The ceiling fixtures sputtered at times, but it was better than suffering candles and torches.

Before Keith had a chance to sit down, Lance was dragging Shiro and him towards the small corner his family had commandeered. Using some old blankets, they’d walled off a part of the floor, giving themselves some privacy. Apparently, Lance had told them all that Keith now had a boyfriend and they were dying to be introduced. Embarrassed, Shiro suffered being seated down on a pile of blankets and questioned. They sat side by side, their legs pressed together, one of Shiro’s hand on Keith’s knee. It was so natural, so normal, it made Keith feel as if things had always been this way. He was amazed anew at how easy it was to be with Shiro. There was no awkwardness between them.

At least not on Shiro’s part. It was slightly different for Keith who still couldn’t get it through his thick head that they were together now. Shiro’s touches were different—before, he’d never have touched his thigh or so low on his back. To him, it seemed to be simply an upgrade of the shoulder touches Keith had grown used to. As for Keith himself, he was still uncertain how to reciprocate the gestures. He hoped Shiro sensed when he leaned into the touches or sensed his unwavering gaze.

Of course, Lance’s family was immediately taken by Shiro’s effortless charms. His gentleness impressed them all as did his impressive background. They questioned him mercilessly on his life, his thoughts, his ideas, their questions making Keith groan in embarrassment. Shiro took it in stride, answering honestly, smiling, laughing, being so damn charming Keith felt himself fall for him all over again. Lance knowingly grinned at Keith—of all of them, Lance knew him well-enough to read his thoughts. He could tell Keith’s bland façade of nonchalance hid embarrassment and love and confusion in equal measures. Stupid man.

And when Lance handed Shiro a sleeping Katarzyna, Keith feared he would die at the adorable picture they presented. Shiro took the baby in his arms gently if somewhat awkwardly, cradling her tiny body in his huge arms. They all cooed, even Veronica whom they all considered the hardass of the family. Shiro smiled uncertainly, body stiff as if he were afraid to wake Katarzyna up. She barely stirred in her pile of blankets, feeling safe despite this being her first encounter with him.

 _I want kids_ , Keith thought insanely. The thought felt like a mental slap. He shook his head, aghast. No, he didn’t want kids, but damn did Shiro look good with a baby in his arms.

“I think I’m going to be Uncle Lance soon!” Lance whispered in his ear, grinning.

“You’re already Uncle Lance,” Keith grumbled, blushing.

He was too distracted by Shiro to give his full attention to Lance. Lance didn’t seem to mind, he kept grinning in that knowing way of his, as if he were certain Keith would announce tomorrow Shiro and he were adopting half a dozen kids. Keith wanted to punch him.

-

War or not, a routine was slowly established. After only a week, Keith felt as if he were truly part of this war effort. Just like the others, he seamlessly attached himself to Lotor. He found the prince equally fascinating and annoying. It was easy to see Lotor knew what he was doing and that he was good at it. Keith admired how certain of himself he was. He never seemed to doubt himself or the orders he issued. The people he worked with had been with him for years so they obeyed him willingly, trusting him implicitly. Allura warmed to him: Keith often saw them discussing together some Altean matters about magic and alchemy and who knew what else. Lotor seemed to genuinely want to know about his Altean ancestors and Allura was happy to supply him with information. She liked talking about her race and her long-lost planet. Often in the evening, she’d sit with Lotor and a handful of fellow Alteans and they’d recount stories of the old days, unwinding before going to bed.

As of yet, Keith couldn’t see the bigger picture. He helped Lotor without being part of his innermost circle. He went where indicated and was happy to leave the planning to greater minds. Shiro worked well with the prince so Keith was happy to get a condensed version of what he had to do through him. He had no idea whether they were winning or even making any progress. For himself, there had been no further encounters with Sendak’s people while he’d been out on errands. Lotor had him planting trackers throughout low town so they could keep an eye on Sendak’s troops’ movements, but so far, the result had been disappointing. Whatever Sven had implanted to prevent the use of blasters coupled with whatever Sendak had done to cut communications short made it almost impossible to use efficient trackers. The way Keith had heard it explained, there was simply too much interferences for a tracker to work. Sven, Pidge, and Hunk, as well as many of Lotor’s engineers, were working to overcome this problem. In the meantime, Keith did the more physical side of the work by planting the trackers so they would be in place when they were ready to be used. When not being attacked by enemy forces, it was simple enough work.

He was usually teamed with Krolia who was a delight to work alongside of. She was efficient and quiet. She knew her business and she could be trusted to have his back. She was a little intense sometimes, but Keith didn’t mind it. If Krolia was on another assignment, he would go with Shiro, which could be distracting at times.

Keith wouldn’t go as far as saying that he was enjoying his time as a soldier, but he was good at it, damn it. Who would have thought that he, the kid with the discipline problem, would be so good at obeying orders?

“So, you weren’t kidding when you said you’d be able to take down a few thugs.”

Keith had been training with Krolia that morning. She always left him exhausted, hurting, sweating, and feeling like he’d never known what pain was like before. She was a merciless teacher, far worse than Shiro had ever been. It made him feel like he’d never known martial arts before, that he’d just been a bumbling fool throwing punches like a lowly boxer.

He wasn’t very happy that James caught him after one of his training sessions with Krolia. He was sitting on the ground, panting harshly, bathed in sweat with his hair and clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Krolia stood beside him, stretching, cooling down with hardly a hair out of place. She glanced at James before walking away, apparently not wanting to be part of this. Keith would have followed her eagerly if he didn’t feel like his legs had been turned to cotton.

“No, I wasn’t,” he said tiredly.

James regarded him coolly, hands dug into the pockets of his pants. He’d been keeping to himself for the past week, hardly talking to anyone unless he absolutely had to. He looked like hell—face drawn, eyes circled with shadows, hair a mess, clothes in need of a good washing. This was beyond hard for him. Most of the time, his eyes were glued to his PDA, hoping communications would be fixed long enough so he could hear from his father. He kept hoping for a rescue as if he were a prisoner held here against his will. He could leave, could try to find Sendak and beg to be sent back to upper town, but they all knew this was unlikely to happen. Nobody knew where Sendak was and, even if James had found him, it was doubtful the commander would go out of his way to help. Lotor, after traumatising them all by declaring he used to be Sendak’s _lover_ , had assured them all that the commander wasn’t a sentimental man. He wouldn’t be moved by words and he certainly wouldn’t care for the son of his lawyer, no matter that said lawyer had saved his sorry hide. If anything, he’d be inclined to leave James to stew in his own misery simply because this was what his father wanted.

“How long will this last do you think?” James asked.

Keith shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Lotor doesn’t know either.” He got to his feet, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. “If you want to be updated on the war effort, ask Lotor. I’m sure he’d be happy to bore you with a long-winded monologue.”

“No, he doesn’t like me. One of his generals, the big manly woman, told me she wanted to break my legs the other day.”

Keith quirked an eyebrow. “Zethrid? Don’t take her too seriously. She’d break the legs of a kitten if it crossed her path.”

“She said it’s because my father’s friend with Sendak.”

“Ah. Well, don’t worry, she won’t. Just… don’t provoke her unduly.”

James scoffed. “I certainly don’t wish to talk to her.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m so damn bored by all this. I’m so tired of being stuck with a bunch of smelly refugees!”

Keith narrowed his eyes and gave a sniff. “You certainly don’t smell like a pretty flower yourself, James. What, the showers here aren’t good enough for you?”

“Urhg, I just don’t have a change of clothes! I came here empty-handed, remember?!”

“I asked Lance to let you borrow something clean and you threw it back to his face.”

“As if I’d wear _his_ clothes.” James rolled his eyes. “It was too small, damn it! I wasn’t being difficult on purpose!”

He crossed his arms over his chest defensively, looking like a petulant child refusing to eat his vegetables. Keith wanted to be understanding, wanted to be patient. He took in a deep breath, calming himself down. Getting angry at James for being brattish wouldn’t solve anything. This could be worse: James could be fomenting trouble. He could be nasty to the others or unpleasant. As it stood, he just remained in his corner and tried to interact as little as possible with anyone. He was frostily polite when talked to, which was better than nothing. Keith had no idea what to do with him. Just like the rest of the civilians, he had very little to do. He wasn’t a soldier or an engineer or a doctor. His skills as a lawyer were absolutely useless in this situation. Furthermore, he was a snobbish prick so there was no way he would stoop low enough to help with cleaning or cooking or washing.

It sucked. Looking at James’ tired, drawn face, Keith felt more pity than annoyance.

“Look,” he said with a sigh, “Lance asked me to accompany him tonight, he has something he wants to do. He says it’s not dangerous. I suppose you could come with us. It might help change your mind.”

James scowled. “Lance won’t approve.”

“Lance isn’t a big baby like you so he’ll suck it up! We’re in the middle of a war, can’t you make an effort to try getting along?!”

James said nothing, looking away with his teeth gritted. Keith immediately felt bad for his outburst—there was no need to be getting angry. There was just a lot going on right now and dealing with a fractious person like James made things even more complicated.

“Sorry,” Keith grumbled. “It can’t be easy for you. Look, Lance might complain, but he won’t mind if you accompany us. The change in scenery will do you good.”

James knew he was being pitied—he looked steadily at Keith for a moment, trying to repress some emotion. Then, he sighed, shrugged, and said that he’d go with them. After he’d left, Keith leaned back against the wall, groaning. He rubbed his hands over his face. It had only been a week and he was already tired of this bloody war. He wasn’t sure how he was going to survive it.

-

Lance didn’t look very pleased when James joined Keith and him. He crossed his arms over his chest and set his chin in that manner Keith knew meant stubbornness. Lance was an easygoing guy so it was easy to forget he could be hard-headed. Still, whether he didn’t see the point of arguing or he knew it would serve no purpose, he didn’t comment on James’ presence. Keith could have kissed him for it. James, who had obviously been gearing up for a verbal fight, deflated.

“You know we’re not exactly allowed to leave the HQ after curfew,” he remarked.

Lance rolled his eyes. “You can stay here if you want.”

“It’s fine,” Keith cut. “Lotor won’t mind.”

James didn’t look certain, but he didn’t comment.

The three of them left—okay, kind of skulked—out of the HQ a few minutes before midnight. After curfew, the place went mostly quiet. The lights were dimmed to allow for some sleep. There were guard rotations and some soldiers never slept so the night was never completely silent. Child refugees cried for their parents and people had nightmares while others blew off steam by having sex, so sleeping had become a difficult affair.

The air outside was blessedly cool after the stuffy interior of the HQ. It had snowed earlier in the evening and a white, fluffy blanket covered the ground. The clouds had been chased away by a brisk wind, allowing for a clear, unobstructed view of the sky. Now that electricity had died down throughout low town, there was no light pollution. Thousands of stars were visible against the black velvet of the sky. Keith paused to look up, hands in the pockets of his jacket. That sense of vertigo, of weightlessness overtook him as it always did whenever he tilted his head back to gaze at the stars. He could spend hours just standing there looking up.

Instead, he returned his attention to his companions. James was looking at him with a puzzled expression while Lance smiled knowingly. Keith shrugged and he allowed Lance to lead the way. Lance had been pretty cryptic about the reason for his nightly errand. As far as Keith knew, he hadn’t left the HQ ever since their arrival a week prior. He’d been content to stay with his family and spend time with Allura when she wasn’t busy with Lotor. Keith had to wonder what had prompted this sudden need for a nightly excursion. Lance looked infinitely pleased at himself as he confidently led them through the deserted streets, happy to be in charge once again.

There had been some fighting and skirmishes around here over the past few days, enough to leave traces. There were spots of blood on the pavement. Doors and windows had been broken, the ground littered with shards of glass and splinters of wood. Trashcans had been searched through and overturned. Furniture had been pulled from homes after being searched thoroughly for valuables, left abandoned by the curb. Cars had been broken in, their tires slashed or downright stolen while their paint had been scratched. Litter of all sort was strewn every which way—clothes, old chairs, busted tables, kitchen appliances, crockery, pots and jars, bits of computers and tellies and PDAs and tablets, shoes. Everything of value had been stolen, most certainly food. They passed by a grocery store that had been torched, the only remnants being the bones of the building poking out of the ground like broken, blackened teeth.

They stumbled upon their first corpse a few streets further. Keith had seen his fair share of bodies in his time, yet it still unsettled him. As if of a common accord, they paused to observe the scene. The body—it was difficult to tell whether it had been a woman or man—lay unobtrusively on the sidewalk. The puddle of blood on which it lay had dried, turning to a dark, almost black colour. Thanks to the cold, no flies buzzed around it, but rats had been going at it for a while. Not at all perturbed by the humans, they continued feeding on the dead, white flesh. Judging by the amount of blood, Keith guessed the poor bastard had been stabbed to death. James was looking a bit pale as he stared, eyes huge. He’d probably never seen a corpse before, or at least not one so mangled, left on the street like unwanted trash.

Keith felt sorry for low town for the first time since the war between Sendak and Lotor had begun. As he gazed around him, he saw that some wounds dealt to this neighbourhood would never heal. Behind the busted doors and destroyed windows, he had no doubt there were more corpses abandoned there by looters. Had it been the height of summer, no doubt the smell of rotting flesh would have been choking. He wondered what the authorities, or what was left of them, would do about it. Diseases spread easily when there were cadavers to feast on. He supposed it depended on who won. Maybe the whole block would be put to the torch to avoid contamination.

The night wasn’t still around them. Coming from a few streets away, Keith heard shouts followed by the sound of shattering glass. Not long after, the sky turned a reddish colour as smoke began to curl upward.

“The damn looters are going to destroy everything before Sendak and Lotor even do it,” Lance said sadly. He shook his head. “Come on, let’s go.”

Lance was thankfully angling them away from the noise. Keith had a general idea of where they were going without knowing why. They were accosted once by a group of half a dozen men and women hiding in a back alley. Grimy, their clothes in tatters, they demanded any food Keith, Lance, or James might have. As they had none, they were allowed through without much fuss. They’d been lucky—these people weren’t desperate enough to attack them yet. It would come, though. Given another couple of weeks, Keith had no doubt that the civilians would become more dangerous than any of Sendak’s soldiers.

They reached their destination half an hour later. Lance stopped them in the middle of an empty alley. Keith had never been here before. The place was featureless—only a rusted door broke a long wall of old, grey bricks. There was trash on the muddy ground and a few overturned trashcans. This place wasn’t any different from thousands of other alleys Keith had seen. Lance produced a key from the pocket of his jacket and went about the laborious process of trying to unlock the door. Rust had claimed the lock and the key scraped around the old metal with a noise that sent shivers down Keith’s back. Arms crossed against the chill, he watched Lance work. Finally, after much fumbling about, the key turned. Keith expected the door to be difficult to open. Instead, Lance merely had to push for it to swing in noiselessly on well-oiled hinges.

He offered a proud grin to Keith. “Surprise! Welcome to Uncle Pedro’s cache!”

Keith leaned in to peer into the gloomy darkness. He got an impression of a tiny, dusty room. A tiny, _empty_ room. When he levelled an unimpressed look at his friend, Lance only chuckled knowingly. He loved this, loved being the one with secrets for once. Using the flashlight app on his PDA, he walked into the small room and shone the bright, white beam towards the floor. Keith saw there was a trapdoor there, not dissimilar to the one they’d used to escape to the mines such long time ago.

“Is that a cellar?” Keith asked, surprised. “I thought those were forbidden.”

“Actually,” James cut in, “cellars are authorized as long as they aren’t more than three feet deep.”

Lance quirked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“I’m a lawyer,” James retorted at the scepticism in the other’s voice. “It’s my job to know the law.”

“Well, look away because this one’s more than three feet deep. It’s big enough to fit a small house in.”

Lance grabbed the hook of the trapdoor and pulled it open easily. It didn’t squeak on its hinges at all. Through the square opening, Keith saw a staircase descending into a well-lit area. Lance had been right: this was deeper than three feet. He caught the smells of dry cement, dirt, and old planks of wood. Despite knowing this was illegal, James was peering over Keith’s shoulder, looking quite fascinated by the whole thing.

“It’s bigger than my dad’s wine cellar,” he concluded, a bit awed. “All those cellars are supposed to have been filled years ago.”

“Except for those in upper town, of course,” Lance commented wryly. He pocketed his PDA. “Looks like Marco or Luis forgot to turn off the light on their last visit. I’m surprised the generator hasn’t died down. Anyway, I’ll be back in a minute. Wait here.”

“What is he even looking for?” James asked after Lance had disappeared down the stairs.

Keith shrugged. “I don’t know, he didn’t tell me.”

They stood side by side, looking down the hole. James said, keeping his eyes averted: “You look happy with your man.”

Ah. Keith had been wondering when James would broach the subject of Shiro. So far, there had been hardly time for James and him to speak, but there were times when he’d felt his gaze on him.

“I am happy,” Keith said honestly. And he was happy. More than happy, actually. He had no word in his vocabulary to expression what he felt whenever he stood beside Shiro, whenever he remembered they were together. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling when he added: “It’s like a dream come true.”

“Why him, though? My father calls him Officer Goody-Goody. He says Shirogane is like a puppy eager to please. He’s apparently ridiculously righteous. I don’t understand why a guy like him would buy your license.”

Keith turned to look at James with surprise. “Oh. Shiro isn’t the one who bought my license.”

James quirked an eyebrow at that. “What? That’s another guy? Uh, now that you mention it, I remember you saying his name once, I think. Did he grow tired of you?”

“No.”

“So… you have a boyfriend _and_ a lover?”

Keith didn’t know what to say to that. Over the past week, he’d done his best not to think about Wor while trying to find a way to talk about this with Shiro. So far, he’d backed out every time, afraid. He didn’t know what to do. He loved Shiro more than life itself, but he still had to work. He had a contract with Wor, after all, and Keith wasn’t the kind of person to go back on a deal. He had to break things off between Wor and himself, and it was far more difficult than he’d expected. He’d grown attached to the alien. To be honest, he was also scared of finding himself jobless.

And all of that was happening during a war.

“What was that?” James asked when the sound of voices reached them.

Keith tensed, cocking an ear. There were people talking nearby. He went to the door, peering into the dark alley. It was empty and the sound didn’t seem to be coming from that direction. He stood there, puzzled, looking around.

James grabbed his arm to get his attention and then pointed towards the trapdoor. For a second, Keith refused to acknowledge the obvious. The voices were coming from down there. They stood frozen, staring at each other in horror. Lance had said nothing about meeting other people here. How had they gotten into that cellar? Was there another entry? Lips dry, Keith leaned towards the trapdoor, listening. Yes, there was no doubt that the voices were coming from there. They were too far for him to make out any word or have a chance to recognise them.

“If Lance’s playing a joke on me, I swear I’ll kill him.” He looked at James. “Stay here, I’ll take a look.”

“What?! No way! I’m not staying here on my own! What if someone walks in?!”

That wasn’t an irrational fear, but Keith had no time to address it. His heart beat heavily in his chest in worry—what was going on? This didn’t feel like a joke—Lance didn’t play that kind of jokes of people, especially not on him. Ignoring James, Keith carefully made his way down the old stairs made of polished wood. They didn’t creak beneath his weight. Down the cellar, the air grew cooler. He’d expected it to smell stale as places rarely visited were wont to do. Instead, his nostrils caught the mixed odours of fine alcohol, cedar wood, and something else he couldn’t name, something acrid.

As he climbed down, to this right was a brick wall, most likely the foundations holding the building above his head. To his left was the back of what he supposed to be big shelf. It ran the length of the room. Its rows of shelves were filled with boxes and many other containers of various shapes and sizes. Through the gaps between the boxes, Keith got a glimpse of the room behind. Large with a high ceiling, it reminded him of a vault. More shelves lined the other walls, all of them also filled with knickknacks.

In the centre of the room were people. Three of them were on their feet, talking in low voices. They seemed to be arguing, their hands flying and their words hissing. Pushed into two corners were other folks. Those were either sitting down or lying on the ground. All of them had their hands bound behind their back. They were either sleeping or had been knocked out cold. Next to the three arguing people was a large crate with an insignia stamped on the polished metal. The crate hovered a few inches above the ground, ready to be pushed.

Keith spotted Lance lying amongst the unmoving bodies. He too looked to be unconscious, his hands tightly bound behind his back in an angle that couldn’t be comfortable. The light overhead was good enough for Keith to notice the large bruise on his friend’s face. His blood ran cold. What was going on? This clearly hadn’t been a part of Lance’s plan. Who were these people?

It didn’t matter. They were only three of them, humans that looked puny compared to the Galras he’d faced. Keith’s fingers inched towards his knife. He thought they weren’t armed until one of the men moved his arm in a wide arc. The gesture tugged the hem of his shirt up to reveal a gun tucked at the back of his belt. It would have been fine if this had been a blaster. This wasn’t. It was an old-fashioned gun, a _firearm_. It used black powder and bullets so it wouldn’t be out of commission like an ordinary blasters. The second he got out of his hiding spot, he would be shot.

Shit.

He would have done something incredibly rash if James hadn’t stopped him. He’d been watching the whole scene too. Keith had thought he’d looked alarmed or scared. Instead, there was an odd gleam to his eyes. He tugged on Keith’s sleeve and, together, they went back upstairs, being very careful not to make any sound.

“I know what to do,” James said in a low voice. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you. Can I trust you with Lance’s life, though?”

“Yes. Take off your jacket and give me your knife.”

Keith opened his mouth to argue. James looked serious, in control, like he truly knew what he was doing. He had a plan. How that was possible, Keith couldn’t know. He swore under his breath, cursing himself for a fool as he removed his jacket. He unhooked the sheath of his dagger from his belt and handed it to the other. He felt stupidly naked without it. The urge to snatch it back when James put it away in his jacket pocket was almost too overpowering to resist. It was bitingly cold standing here without his jacket. Every second they wasted was another second that put Lance’s life in danger. He looked at James, _really_ looked at him. Could he be trusted? Keith didn’t try to understand why he knew what to do, he only focused on whether James could be trusted. There was no shiftiness behind James’ eyes. His gaze was clear, intense. He was in control. Keith guessed this was what James must look like when he was serious, when he was doing something he was good at.

“Okay, I trust you,” Keith breathed.

“You can take down these guys if you get close enough, right?”

“Yes.”

“All right, I’ll get you close enough.”

They went back downstairs, Keith going first. To his horror, James made no effort at being discreet. His shoes rang loudly on the steps, certainly alerting the men in the room. Before he had time to hiss at him to be quiet, James was grabbing him by the hair and shoving him forward. It took all his willpower not to elbow him. His body went taught out of reflex, the burning in his scalp more surprising than actually painful. James pushed him forward mercilessly until they were standing in front of the three armed men.

They looked surprised to say the least. Clearly, they hadn’t expected company. In one fluid movement, they all had their pistols out and trained on Keith and James. Keith’s breath caught in his throat as he instinctively tried to move away.

“Don’t shoot,” James barked, voice ringing loudly. “I’m here for my pay.”

What the fuck was he talking about? Keith forced himself not to panic, forced himself to focus on his surroundings so he knew when to act.

The men exchanged guarded looks. One of them asked: “Who the hell are you?”

“It’s not important. I work for General Raht. That’s his cargo you’ve got here, isn’t it?” Three hesitant nods. “Well, there’s this one to add too.” He shook Keith for emphasis. “I want my pay.”

Keith followed the exchange with some confusion. Obviously, James knew what he was talking about—the three men were looking suspicious but not overly so. As they conversed in low voices, he allowed his eyes to wander, taking in his surroundings. There had to be at least twenty unconscious people lying on the floor, Lance included. Those to his left were older, men and women well advanced in age while those to his right were teenagers and young adults. The younger ones shared one trait: they were good-looking. Amongst them, Keith recognized a fellow class-three prostitute, a blond-haired woman he’d seen before. Her rare hair colour had made her quite popular.

“Very well,” one of the men said, returning his attention to Keith and James. His face was serious. “How did you know to find us here?”

“My contact told me. She works for the CTAC. Her name is Trugg. She usually meets me at the skydocks, but the bridge’s closed so she said to deal with you instead. I believe thirty hundred credits is the usual amount? Unless you prefer to pay me in GAC, I really don’t care. ”

A ripple of surprise crossed the face of the man in charge. “You know Trugg?”

“Yes. How do you think she’s managed to smuggle away so many pretty people without being caught? I smoothed things for her a little, told her when the border inspectors were at the docks. Remember last year, when she nearly got caught? I lost quite a lot of money that day.”

The grip in Keith’s hair was firm. James’ voice was level. He was speaking with such assurance that it felt as if he’d done this before. Keith had to resist the urge to turn to get a glimpse at his face. He just stood there, heart beating hard against his ribs, trying not to glance too often at Lance’s unmoving body. Those guys were slavers, he summarised. They were in league with some woman named Trugg who smuggled the captured people out of Neo-Metropolis. If Keith’s rescue attempt didn’t work, there were high chances that Lance was going to be sold at a slave market on some distant swap moon, lost forever.

“Uh. True,” the leader said grudgingly. “Where do we send them?”

James heaved a long-suffering sigh and Keith had no trouble imagining him rolling his eyes. “You send the pretty ones to Ubeurilia, in the Chars 2S48 system. As per the new treaty, you send the old ones to Kaax'oits. Look, do you have any more of those stupid questions? I—”

Keith stopped listening, mind reeling. Had he heard right? Had James said some of those slaves were bound for Kaax'oits, Wor’s planet?

“I’m not paying thirty hundred credits for this one!” the man in charge exclaimed, pointing at Keith in disgust. “He has a scar!”

Keith blinked, trying to focus on what was happening. The three slave traders had holstered their guns back and were arguing prices. Prices for _him_. It was uncomfortable, standing there like a piece of meat while a bloke tried to put a price on him.

“Yes, he does, but he’s pretty,” James countered.

“He’s scrawny!”

“Not where it counts.”

If Keith hadn’t felt James’ trembling, cold hand at the back of his neck, he’d have thought the guy had done this before. He was bullshitting so effortlessly, making the traders swallow whatever he said easily. Keith would have been impressed if he hadn’t been embarrassed at hearing them arguing over the width of his hips and the length of his legs.

“Look,” James sighed after a while. “Inspect him closer, and then give me a price. I’ll take whatever you offer to get him off my hands.”

This was his cue, Keith realised. He tensed minutely. The traders grumbled under their breath, then one waved him closer. James pushed him roughly forward. The second Keith felt his hand leaving his hair, he was moving. He punched the nearest trader in the mouth, sending him reeling backward in a spray of blood and teeth. The second man’s eyes widened. He jerked back at the last second, the only reason why Keith’s kick missed his shin. The second kick caught him in the chest. The force of the blow made him collide with the third trader and they fell together on the ground. Keith jumped on them, hands groping in the folds of their clothes for their weapons. Judging by the raspy, wet sound the kicked man made when he breathed, he’d gotten a few ribs broken. The third man tried to push the second off him, his hands clawing at Keith. He kept swearing loudly.

Keith found the two guns. Out the corner of his eye, he saw movement as he got to his feet. The first man had gotten over his shock and was fumbling with his belt for his own weapon. He got it out, aimed. The pistol roared loudly in the enclosed room. Keith had no idea if he got hit. He rushed the guy, grabbed his wrist, and twisted it violently. With a shout of pain, the trader dropped the gun that fell with a clatter on the cement floor. Suddenly enraged by the whole thing, Keith seized the man by the back of his shirt and slammed his head against the nearest wall. He slammed and slammed and slammed until the bastard fell limp in his grasp. Panting harshly, Keith stumbled back. The third man, the unwounded one, froze when their eyes met. He whimpered and pushed himself as far as possible, huddling in one corner amongst the unconscious people he’d been about to sell as slaves. He wouldn’t be a problem.

It took him a minute or two to catch his breath. Keith stood there, inspecting himself, sure that he’d been shot. There was no wound he could see, nothing the adrenaline of the fight had hidden. It had been a close one—he’d been lucky.

“Shit.”

Keith turned when James swore. Apparently, his luck hadn’t extended to James. A smear of blood was blossoming on the sleeve of his jacket. He was pale as he sat down heavily on the ground, holding his arm just above the elbow. Heart in his throat, Keith went to him, nearly tearing his jacket off his frame to look at the wound. James made no sound as Keith inspected it. It was only a graze, thankfully. The bullet had most likely barely clipped him before embedded itself in the wall. Keith tore a strip of cloth from James’ jacket and bandaged the arm tightly. James suffered through the whole thing with gritted teeth. The pain must have been blinding for him not to whine.

“You’ll be fine,” Keith said, patting James’ shoulder. “Veronica will look at you when we go back. I don’t think you’ll even need stitches.”

“It hurts like a bitch!”

“Yeah, wait till you get shot for real—then you’ll know what pain is.” Keith sighed. “Thanks, James. Your quick thinking got us through this.”

James looked both ill-at-ease and proud to be thanked. “It’s nothing. You did most of the work.”

“No. Without you, I would never have been able to get close enough without being shot. You saved all these people too.”

James glanced at the passed out men and women lying on the floor, uncertain. Judging by the pallor of his face and the slight trembling of his limbs, he was probably in shock. It was to be expected for someone like him—ordinary folk went through life without getting shot at, after all. He was doing a great job at being composed all things considered. No doubt he’d need a hefty dose of rum tonight to sleep, but Keith thought he’d be all right.

He went to Lance next. His friend was still out cold. There was a small puncture wound on the side of his neck. It looked like he’d been injected something, probably some drug to keep him unconscious. The bruises on his face didn’t look serious. Keith touched his cheek as a wave of fear submerged him. Holy shit, he’d almost lost Lance. If Lance had decided to come here alone, or if Keith had been shot or captured, he would have lost his best friend. Realisation hit him hard, making him shake. He leaned over Lance, hugging him, resting his forehead over his friend’s calmly beating heart. Lance remained perfectly still, looking as if he were sleeping peacefully. Keith sat back on his haunches, vision blurry.

He remained seated there on the cold floor until the unconscious people began stirring. One after the other, they opened their eyes, staring blankly around them as the drug wore off. Keith didn’t know what to tell them. How did one tell someone that they had been sold to slavery, that they’d nearly been sent to the confines of the universe to serve some uncaring master?

Once again, James took control of the situation smoothly. Keith watched him talk to these people, surprised at how easy it seemed for him to ingratiate himself. Wound forgotten, he exchanged a few words with them, explaining what had happened. He didn’t flinch from them, patted a shoulder here and there when it was needed, and generally made sure they were okay. This barely looked like the guy who’d been disgusted at the thought of walking amongst the unwashed masses of low town. When one old man burst into tears, James allowed him to cry on his shoulder, acting as if he were comforting his own grandfather rather than a stranger. It was weird and unsettling.

He didn’t have time to ponder this further. The drug used on Lance was wearing off too. Groaning, Lance started tossing and turning in his sleep, eyebrows pinched and teeth gritted. Keith combed his fingers through his hair, soothing him. When Lance finally opened his eyes, they were hazy and unfocused. He stared up at the ceiling for long seconds, blinking slowly. Hesitantly, Keith touched his cheek. As if struck by a taser gun, Lance sat bolt upright with a yell.

“Lance! Calm down! You’re okay!”

It took long seconds before Lance’s eyes finally focused on him. When they did, tension gradually oozed out of his body. His shoulders slumped and Keith had to help him remain seated. Lance leaned his weight against him, breathing shallowly.

“It’s fine, you’re all right,” Keith soothed.

“W-what happened?”

In a few quick sentences, Keith explained what had happened. As he listened, Lance calmed down somewhat. His body felt too warm, almost as if he were running a fever. Keith suspected this might be caused by the drug he’d been injected, but he’d rest easier once Veronica checked him.

“Shit, James saved me?” Lance mumbled, stunned.

“Yeah. You’ll have to thank him.”

Lance chuckled humourlessly. He closed his eyes, letting his head rest on Keith’s shoulder. There were lines on his face, making him look drawn and tired. In the meantime, the other people drifted off, stunned and eager to be away from here. Most kept thanking James, hugging him and shaking his hand and asking who they could ever repay him. James took it all graciously, smiling winsomely and all in all appearing like a great guy. Seeing him behaving like that, Keith regretted that James couldn’t always be this way. Smiling and being kind fitted him much better than the sullen, angry attitude he adopted more often than not.

When the three slavers made their sneaky exit, Keith didn’t try stopping them.

By the time it was only the three of them left, Lance felt strong enough to stand up if Keith kept a steadying hand on his elbow. Despite looking like hell, he managed a smile for Keith, conveying in that small quirk of his lips that he’d be all right. Keith felt weak with relief. This whole situation had reminded him uncomfortably of all the times he’d nearly lost Lance in the past. There were days when he wished he could store Lance somewhere wrapped in protective bubble wrap so he’d never get hurt.

James and Lance stood face to face, measuring each other. They’d barely talked since the bridge had been closed and, every time it had happened, they’d barked at each other like angry dogs. They both rubbed the other the wrong way and even ever-patient Lance got tired of being baited. Lance knew how to be gracious, however. He knew when to let go of petty grievances. So, face serious, he extended his hand towards James.

He said: “Keith told me everything. Thank you.”

James glanced down at the extended hand then back up at Lance’s serious, tired face. His own face was oddly still, marble-like in its smoothness. Then, surprising them all, he shook Lance’s hand.

“Don’t mention it.” James grinned fiercely. “I haven’t felt this alive in years. So, thanks for getting captured.”

Lance let out a startled laugh and slapped James’ back. “You’re welcome!” He turned towards the shelves. “Now, the reason why I came here in the first place.”

Tiredness forgotten, he went about opening boxes and crates, searching. He hummed as he worked, apparently in a good mood despite his ordeal. Lance had to be the guy who bounced back to his feet the fastest.

He finally found what he was looking for. With an effort, he pulled a large box off a shelf, set it down on the floor, and opened it reverently. James and Keith both peered curiously over his shoulder. Inside the box was an array of firearms not dissimilar to the ones used by the slavers. Lance pulled one out, expertly inspecting it.

“Oh. You came for the guns,” Keith said.

“Yeah. These aren’t blasters so they’ll work.”

“We kind of noticed,” James grumbled, touching the wound on his arm.

Lance smiled. “Maybe they’ll give us the edge we need to win this war. Come on, help me carry them back to the HQ. Lotor’s going to have find a way to thank me for these.”

-

James nearly jumped out of his skin when he spotted Keith waiting for him outside the bathroom. It was very early morning, that quiet hour where everybody, even the insomniacs, found some rest. As far as Keith could tell, except for the sentries, they were the only ones still up. He knew he couldn’t sleep so he hadn’t bothered trying. He needed to clarify some things first.

“Can’t this wait tomorrow?” James grumbled, rubbing his hands over his tired face.

“No. Sorry, this won’t take long.”

“At least I get to see your pretty face.”

Keith rolled his eyes. They found a quiet corner where they sat down on the floor, keeping their voices low not to wake other people up.

“How did you know what to do?” Keith asked.

“I didn’t know _what_ to do, exactly. I just recognized these guys as slavers. We needed to get past their guns, so the best way to get you close enough was to make them interested in you enough so they’d lower their defenses.” At Keith’s unasked question, he groaned. “I knew they were slavers because I saw the crest on that crate they had. Slavers use this type of crate to smuggle people. It’s not common knowledge, mind you. I know it because General Raht got in a bit of trouble a couple of years ago. He was accused of peddling humans. My father took up his case and I helped him. I got to learn a lot about slavery and other unsavoury things like that. That’s how I know about the general and his contact at the skydocks.”

“I thought slavery had been outlawed.”

James shrugged. “Officially, yes. In reality, no. You’d be surprised by the amount of people who get away with it simply because they play on the definition of the word. The Galra doesn’t quite use slaves, but they’re allied with a lot of planets that do. They close their eyes on the matter and pretend they don’t see it happening under their nose. Truth be told, they don’t care as long as it’s not Galras being sold off.”

Keith wasn’t that surprised by this. The next question burned his lips. “And how do you know about the treaty with Kaax'oits?”

“Treaties are ratified by lawyers.” James threw him a sharp look. “You tensed when I mentioned it.”

He looked down at his lap, uncertain whether he should admit the truth. Perhaps it was the early hour or perhaps it was the fact that he’d already told James everything about himself, so he said: “The… ambassador from Kaax'oits, he’s the one who bought my license.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” James’ eyes were wide. “Keith, those people are sickos! You can’t imagine half of the shit that goes on over there! Even Emperor Zarkon was reluctant to treaty with them!”

“I know all about it, he told me!” Keith retorted, annoyed. “I just didn’t expect him to buy human slaves.”

“What did you think he was here for, then? Our culture?”

Keith gritted his teeth. He’d never asked Wor why Earth and Kaax'oits were getting a treaty. It had never crossed his mind to wonder about that and he’d never cared enough to ask. When Wor had said there were slaves on his planet, he hadn’t thought humans could be amongst them. He’d figured the slaves were merely other aliens captured. He’d been stupid—what had Earth to offer to the people of Kaax'oits? Humans were puny and weak and ridiculous compared to a race who could control thoughts and dematerialise and were basically immortal. Humans were inferior and that was what the K’x-oitians liked: to be in control.

He didn’t know what to this of this. Well, he knew what he thought of slavery. He just didn’t know what to think of Wor omitting this whole part of the story.

“Shit,” Keith grumbled. “It means he pays me with money made from trading human slaves.”

“What were you thinking?!”

“I was thinking of the money! Damn it, I should’ve known it was too good to be true.”

“You didn’t know. He tricked you.”

“He didn’t. He’s really nice, James.”

“Uh, no? Keith, you can’t be nice when you own slaves. I can’t begin to imagine the kind of shit he must be into…” James threw him an incredulous look. “How can you even sleep with him?”

“Shut up! I assure you, he’s a lot nicer to me than you’ve ever been.”

A thought apparently struck James. His eyes went wide. “The flowers! At the hospital, the flowers you received, they were from him, weren’t they? Shit, Keith, the guy’s in love with you!”

“He’s not! The K’x-oitians have no feelings. He’s simply fascinated by feelings.” Keith got to his feet. “Anyway, thanks for this. And thanks again for saving Lance. I really appreciate it.”

“Keith, don’t be like that. I’m not judging you. I’m just… surprised.”

“Don’t be. Wor offered me a lot of money to buy my license. I need that money so I took him up on his offer. He’s really not a bad guy at all. I’ll talk to him and clear this up.”

James opened his mouth, then closed it. Keith guessed he’d been about to offer buying his licence once Wor got rid of it. The fact that he didn’t say it out loud made Keith respect him a little more.

“See you tomorrow,” he said.

Shiro was sleeping soundly when Keith rejoined him. Every one of Lotor’s soldier was allowed a narrow cot, and Shiro and he had pushed theirs together to more or less form a double bed. It was uncomfortable and made doing anything more than cuddling almost impossible, but Keith would have been happy to lie on a bed of nails if it meant sleeping with Shiro. He toed off his boots and carefully slipped beneath the thin blanket. Immediately, Shiro rolled over, wrapping an arm around him to pull him closer. Shiro was a cuddler in his sleep—he’d hug anything that was within reach, whether it was Keith or just a pillow. Keith smiled as he was crushed against a broad, warm chest. The chill of the night had seeped into his bones and he shivered as warmth engulfed him.

He refused to fall asleep immediately. He wanted to bask into this perfect moment. It didn’t matter that there were dozens of people sleeping in similar cots around them. From beneath the blanket, Keith felt as if Shiro and he were alone in the world. He wrapped his arms comfortably around Shiro’s waist. There was no tension beneath his hands.

Sometimes, Shiro’s nightmares got so bad that he fell off the bed from flailing too hard. He’d wake himself up screaming and shouting. The first time it had happened, Keith had nearly had a heart attack of fright. It had taken him long, long minutes to calm Shiro down. He’d heard about this from Adam, but hearing about a thing and living through it were two different matters entirely. Shiro’s night terrors appeared so vivid that words sometimes didn’t even reach him. He’d huddle in a corner, eyes wide and unseeing, face wet with sweat and tears, muscles tensed enough to snap, fingers curled in his short hair. When it happened, Keith sat with him, talking softly, careful not to touch. Once, he’d startled Shiro by touching his shoulder—the punch that had followed had left a big hole in the concrete wall an inch beside Keith’s head. Now, he knew to keep just out of reach. Talking helped calm Shiro down. Usually, after a few long minutes, he’d calm down enough to be put back to bed where he’d fall asleep like a log. Other times, he’d lie awake, cradled in Keith’s arms, too terrorized to risk closing his eyes. They never talked about it. Keith didn’t ask. Shiro didn’t volunteer any explanation. Keith hoped it meant Shiro wouldn’t ask when it was his turn to wake up in a panic.

Tonight though, Shiro slept soundly. Whatever dreams he had seemed to be pleasant. Keith was grateful—the man needed his rest. There were lines of exhaustion on his face and he kept complaining about headaches that wouldn’t go away. This puzzled Keith because, of all the hurts and pains and discomforts in the world, the only one Shiro had never had trouble with was headaches. He made a mental note to check his meds tomorrow—maybe he’d changed them recently and he was suffering from side effects. Shiro never liked talking about his meds so it wouldn’t be that surprising he’d never mentioned switching.

“You’re cold,” Shiro mumbled, his nose into Keith’s hair. “You smell of the outside.”

 “I was out. It’s still early, you can sleep.”

Shiro mumbled drowsily before falling silent again. Keith leaned his cheek on Shiro’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. So strong, so steady, he couldn’t imagine it ever failing. And yet it was.

He closed his eyes, refusing to think about it.


	34. Chapter 34

Thanks to Lance’s ordeal, Keith was stuck with kid duty the next morning. Katarzyna woke with the sun and her cries were enough to drive Keith out of some pleasant dream. He was out of bed and half across the room before she had time to take a breath to wail again. Lance’s family clustered together, their cots pushed so close to make it look like they were having a slumber party. Used to an infant’s antics, they barely stirred when Keith picked Katarzyna up from her bassinet. On the cot beside the bassinet, Lance snored away seemingly without a care in the world. He thankfully didn’t look the worse for wear despite last night’s adventure.

“Keith, I’m hungry,” came a little voice.

He looked down to see Nadia, Lance’s niece, looking up at him with huge brown eyes. She shared a cot with her brother and the two of them were staring at him from their pile of blankets. Keith had been so busy with everything that he hadn’t had much time for them—or for anyone else for that matter. He looked around—Luis and his wife were still sleeping. Silvio and Nadia were seven and nine respectively, far too young to be trudging about a place full of hardened, alien warriors. He couldn’t in good conscience leave them there to be hungry while he fed Katarzyna.

“All right, come with me then,” he whispered. “Put on your shoes, it’s cold. And be quiet.”

They giggled as they slipped from between the blankets to put on their shoes. Keith rocked Katarzyna in his arms while he watched them. Did they understand what was going on around them or was it all a game to them? He didn’t know. He didn’t really understand how a child’s mind worked. At nine, he’d understood danger well enough to know his father’s job was dangerous without being sure what it entailed. He’d known not to walk too close to the ravine behind their shack because it was dangerous, and danger meant falling down and breaking his leg. He supposed Silvio and Nadia understood that something was happening around them without being sure what it was. Knowing their parents, they hadn’t explained in details—Luis could be overly protective of his children sometimes and it wasn’t Keith’s place to step in.

The mess hall where Lotor’s soldiers ate consisted of a large room full of rickety tables and stools. Army rations the prince had brought with him served as food. The rations were canned, dried food that tasted weird but was at least filling. Hunk had nearly cried the first time he’d opened a can to eat the goo inside. With food supplies rapidly diminishing in low town, they had to make do with this. Keith had no idea how long the cans would last or what they’d do once they ran out. Lotor didn’t seem much worried about it—either he knew there was enough or he knew the war would be over before they all starved. This food was fine for adults, but feeding Katarzyna would become more complicated the further the days went by. She was still too little for solid food so she had to be given baby formula. There were a few other infants her age, some of them orphans, so parents tried to share what they had.

There were quite a few people up already. Keith recognized Ezor and Zethrid at one of the tables—Ezor sat on Zethrid’s lap while she fed her some of the greenish food goo, the two of them too lost in each other to notice what was going on around. Most of Lotor’s people were very open with their feelings. Couples showed public displays of affection without shame, some of them far more brazen than Keith could ever be. He’d caught couples rutting a bit everywhere, not caring who saw. Sure, Shiro and he had had sex in the bathroom, but they’d had the decency to lock the stall so nobody would catch them with their pants around their ankles.

“So,” Keith told Silvio and Nadia, “you two fetch yourself some breakfast and meet me back at that table. Don’t dawdle.”

They nodded eagerly and ran towards the other end of the room where one of Lotor’s men was handing out cans of food. He kept a careful list of everybody who came through to make sure nobody got more than their fair share: one can for the warriors, half a can for the civilians, a quarter of a can for the children. There were times Keith could have eaten five times mores, especially after a hard training session with Krolia. He was always hungry nowadays, even more so when he gave half his food to Shiro. Shiro was twice his size and sick, damn it, he needed more than just one stupid can.

While he took some baby formula from a cupboard and mixed it, he kept an eye on Silvio and Nadia. They were waiting patiently in line, bouncing on the ball of their feet as if this was an adventure. They enjoyed the little bit of freedom Keith was affording them by allowing them to fetch their own food. Katarzyna whimpered grumpily against his shoulder, making it clear that she was getting too hungry to be patient. Judging by the smell, she was also in need of a good change.

He finished readying the bottle just as she was opening her mouth to wail. He popped it into her mouth, deftly cutting short her scream. She looked up at him with huge, innocent eyes as if to lord the fact he could never get angry at her. When he looked up after quirking an eyebrow at her, he saw that Sven was staring at him with an odd expression on his face.

“Sven,” he called. “Come here, I need to talk to you.”

Sven hesitated half a second before approaching. He was so unobtrusive that Keith had barely seen him over the past few days. He knew he’d been busy with Lotor working on some project. Keith had heard Pidge and Hunk praise him high and low—apparently, Sven was as smart as he was a good fighter.

“Could you fix my PDA?” Keith asked. “I have to make a few calls.”

Sven glanced at Katarzyna before saying: “Oh, uh, certainly.”

When he kept looking at the girl, Keith said: “She’s not mine. I didn’t lie when I said I don’t have kids. What’s wrong with you? Don’t you like children?”

“It’s not that. It’s just… erm… I don’t know.”

“You’re really weird.”

Sven’s dark eyes grew sad. He apologized before shuffling away, back bent a little. Keith watched him go, puzzled. What was wrong with this guy? Why did he always take everything to heart? Keith hadn’t meant this as an insult—it was true that Sven’s awkwardness made him weird. Before he had time to go after the other to rectify things, Silvio and Nadia were coming back, carrying their plate of food proudly. Keith threw one last look at Sven before sitting down at a table with the children.

This felt so domestic, so ordinary, that Keith could have almost believed he was back living with Lance at his parents’ flat. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself seated awkwardly at the table with them, uncertain how to behave and uncertain how to deal with two young children who made a mess of things. Silvio and Nadia had been shy at first, unsure of who he was. As the years went by, he became known to them as Cool Uncle Lance’s friend, which made him cool by association. They liked him. Despite Keith’s past, Luis had never feared leaving his children with him.

Once Katarzyna was done with her bottle, he shifted his hold on her so she rested against his shoulder. He patted her back until she burped. The mess hall was rapidly filling with waking people. Soldiers and civilians alike mingled, waiting in line for their breakfast, yawning and rubbing at tired eyes. Despite the war going on, there was good cheer amongst them, even amongst the non-combatants who were here because their house had been destroyed. Keith heard laughter and saw many smiles and bright eyes. Children who had been orphaned were being taken care of by kind adults. The air of camaraderie surprised Keith. It wasn’t something he was familiar with. He knew the low towners were mostly friendly to one another, but, in his line of work, he hadn’t seen it much. It was a nice change—it gave him hope that maybe things would be all right eventually.

Since the most of the tables had been taken, Sven found himself forced to seat with Keith. He did so awkwardly, apologetically, as if he were intruding. Keith shrugged—better him than someone else. At least Sven was quiet—Keith had once sat beside Ezor during breakfast and she’d chatted his ears off for half an hour before he could make an escape.

Careful not to drop Katarzyna, Keith reached into the back pocket of his pants for his PDA that he slid to Sven. Sven took it and looked it over, quirking an eyebrow at the battered, cracked screen and peeling red paint.

“Keith,” Nadia said, leaning on her elbows on the tabletop, “is Sven your brother?”

“What? What makes you say that?” he asked.

“When you do that—” She scrunched up her face comically, one eyebrow climbing up her forehead slowly. “Sven does it the same way.”

Keith exchanged a look with Sven—Sven was looking startled by this comment. He looked away hurriedly, turning his attention back to his food. Not picking up on the strange vibe, Nadia laughed before returning to her own plate. Silvio pulled a face at her and soon, they were too engrossed in their own world to notice the adults.

As soon as Sven was done eating, he excused himself to work on Keith’s PDA, hurrying away. Keith sighed—why was he always stuck with the weird ones? Katarzyna was getting heavy in his arms so he shifted his hold on her again. Her lips were pulled into a toothless smile as she pumped her tiny legs and arms energetically in her blanket. How she could be endearing while drooling all over his fingers was a mystery.

By the time the mess hall was full and noisy, Nadia and Silvio were done with their food. They discarded their trays (which was better than a lot of adults did) and trotted away while Keith followed, glad to be away from the growing noise. It was nearing seven so Lotor’s first briefing of the day would begin soon. Keith hoped he had an assignment today—he was growing bored of staying at the HQ. Lotor seemed hesitant about his next move, not quite knowing where to send his troops since they hadn’t located Sendak’s position yet. Lotor wasn’t happy with mere skirmishing—he wanted to launch an attack on the enemy’s command centre. Keith agreed—as soon as they got rid of Sendak, surely this whole war would end and they could go back to their ordinary life. The problem was to _find_ Sendak. The man was elusive. Keith couldn’t begin to imagine where he could be hiding his troops in low town, especially not close to the bridge where he was rumoured to be. There were no large buildings there that could shelter hundreds of people. Allura had tried to locate him using her alchemic powers and quintessence, and the result had disappointingly been the same.

Keith didn’t see Sven for the most part of the day. There had been some fighting last night, so Keith was sent out on a rescue mission alongside Shiro and a few other soldiers. Lotor had equipped them with the firearms Lance had brought back last night. That morning during the briefing, Lotor had made a show of thanking him for his contribution to the war effort, praising his bravery. Allura had looked truly surprised by Lance’s daring and he’d beamed in pride when she’d personally congratulated him. Lotor hadn’t addressed the whole slavery thing so Keith knew to leave it alone. They could tackle that problem once the war was over.

The mission was simple enough. They were back before supper with about forty refugees who had been caught in the crossfire between troops from both belligerents. An entire block had been destroyed, buildings collapsed and streets rendered impassable. Dozens had died, some of them men from Sendak and Lotor. At the speed the destruction was advancing, Keith was beginning to fear there would be nothing left of low town in a few months. Whole blocks had already been levelled and that was _without_ the use of blasters and ion canons. He couldn’t begin to imagine the wreckage fighting a traditional war would have wrought.

As he did with every new refugee, Lotor greeted the newcomers personally. He took them aside, talking to them, assuring them that they would be well-taken care of. He offered them food and shelter and healing as well as his protection. Keith didn’t know why he bothered—most of these people would run away in the night the first chance they got, going to friends or family members. Those who stayed did so because they were truly alone in the world. They didn’t care for Lotor’s protection—they didn’t want anything to do with this war. Still, Keith couldn’t deny that the prince had a way with people. Despite being Galra, being noble, being rich, he was able to make himself liked amongst the refugees. They all talked highly of him, calling him fair and reasonable and just. And they were right: Keith’s dislike for Lotor had lessened over the past weeks. Sure, the man was an insufferable, arrogant prick, that didn’t lessen his qualities. He treated all of his subordinates with firm kindness. He didn’t mind silly questions or repeating himself when someone didn’t understand. Keith understood why his generals were so loyal to him.

Just as Keith was making his way to the showers to change out of his bodysuit, Sven intercepted him. There was grease and oil and other fluids on his fingers and arms, as if he’d been tinkering with some engine. No doubt he’d been helping Pidge and Hunk with the particle barrier—the fact that it wasn’t working a growing frustration for everybody.

Before Sven opened his mouth to talk, Keith reached out and wiped a smear of grease off the other man’s cheek. It was such an ingrained gesture he didn’t even think of it. Kids got their face dirty all the time so Keith had gotten used to wiping food off chubby cheeks after spending time with Nadia and Silvio. When he realised he was doing the same thing with a grown man he barely knew, he froze, hand in the air. Sven was looking mildly surprised, not shocked, as if he were used to people randomly touching his face.

“S-Sorry,” Keith mumbled, taking a step back. “I don’t know what that was.”

“It’s fine.” Sven rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand. “Hm, I fixed your PDA.” He handed it back to its owner. “It should work fine. I’m afraid you still cannot connect to the IG, but you’ll be okay with calls and texts.”

“Thanks, Sven, I appreciate it.” Keith offered a smile. “I have a worrywart on the other side of the bridge I need to contact.” When Sven opened his mouth to talk, he cut him off by saying: “But you know already, I can tell.”

“Yes, I know. I apologize for all the, uh, secrecy.”

“It’s fine, I’m getting used to it. Everybody’s acting so weirdly around me all the time. There’s Krolia who’s always after me and Lotor pushing us together for some reason and you who look like Shiro…”

“Krolia is very nice. I think you should spend time with her.”

Keith quirked an eyebrow. “Are you saying that because you think she has a crush on me?”

Sven’s eyes widened. He shook his head. “N-no, no! She’s just… nice! And she’s been training you well, hasn’t she? I can tell you’ve been improving.”

“Yeah, that’s true. _You_ could train me too, you know? You’re frigging good.”

“Uh, that would be weird. I think she’s better at it than I am. So, uh, I’ll leave you to it.”

Before Keith had time to ask why it would be weird, Sven was hurrying away. He was stupidly tall, but amongst taller Galras, he disappeared from view easily.

Putting the man’s odd behaviour out of his mind, Keith turned his attention to his PDA. Its weight was slightly different, a tad heavier. He supposed Sven had added some device to it. Shower forgotten, Keith rapidly riffled through his contacts, found Adam’s number, and dialed. While the line rang, he slipped outside to be away from the noisy crowd. He was nervous, he realised as the PDA nearly slipped from his clammy hand. He hadn’t talked to Adam in weeks and there was simply too much to be said. He wished they could talk face to face instead.

Adam sounded anything but composed when he finally answered. “ _Keith! Bloody hell! Tell me it’s you!_ ”

“Unless you have someone else in your contacts name Keith, yeah, it’s me.” He smiled at the odd noise of relief that filtered through the line. “Adam, did you miss me?”

“ _Of course, you idiot! What was I to think when I learned all communications with low town had been cut off?! Wait,_ how _are you calling me?_ ”

“I have my ways. Someone helped. So, uh, by the way, you actually said out loud that you’d missed me.”

“ _Don’t be a snot, Keith. I was worried sick about you. Are you all right? What’s going on over there? We get so many conflict reports, I don’t know what to believe._ ”

“I’m fine, don’t worry. There’s this war going on between Lotor and Sendak. War’s kind of a big word, actually. So far, there hasn’t been that much fighting. We’ve no idea where Sendak is.”

“ _So you’re telling me you’re siding with Prince Lotor? That’s good, Keith, though I’d much prefer if you stayed away from trouble._ ”

“Trouble finds me most of the time.” Keith couldn’t help grinning when he said: “Hey, guess what.”

“ _Urgh, I can hear your smile in your voice. What is it?_ ”

“Shiro and I are together.”

There was a long pause on the line. Frowning, Keith looked at the screen—the call was still connected. He tried launching a video call instead, but it didn’t seem to work. He wished he could see Adam’s face.

“ _Ah. That’s great._ ”

What? That’s great? That was all Adam had to say? Keith’s stomach did a weird flip. Adam sounded uncertain, unconvinced. “It’s not a disillusion! I’m not back on drugs!”

“ _I know. Just… be careful, Keith, all right?_ ”

“Be careful? Of Shiro?”

“ _Yes. He—_ ”

“What?! How dare you say that?! What’s wrong with you? I thought you’d be happy for me!”

Unsettlingly, Keith’s eyes prickled. He blinked furiously, disconcerted by the whole thing. He’d thought Adam would be happy for him. Sure, Adam had liked to say that Keith deserved someone better than Shiro, but he had always thought it was meant as a joke. Now, Adam was talking as if Shiro was someone dangerous, someone to be wary of. Where did that come from? Adam was probably the person who knew Shiro the best, he should know there was no better guy in the whole universe. Shiro wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less a fellow human being.

“ _I’m happy for you, lad, it’s simply… Takashi has been… different lately. He has changed since he came back from his captivity. I simply want you to be careful. Promise me, Keith, promise me or I swear I’ll find a way to cross that bridge and wring your scrawny neck.”_

There was something odd in Adam’s voice, a hitch of panic that reminded Keith of his worst years as a junkie. Adam had talked to him like that sometimes when he’d worried about what Keith had snorted or swallowed.

“I’ll be careful,” he mumbled.

“ _Could you put Takashi on the phone? I’d like to talk to him._ ”

Keith frowned. “He’s not here for the moment.”

“ _I see. Well, I suppose I can talk to him later._ ”

There was an awkward moment of silence. Keith didn’t know how to fill it. Adam’s words of doom made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t understand them. Adam wasn’t mean, he wouldn’t say that to piss on his happiness. There had been genuine worry in his voice and it angered Keith because, even if he asked, he knew he wouldn’t get any straight answers. Adam still treated him like he was a child who needed to be protected from the harsh truths of the adult world.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“ _Keith, I apologize. I didn’t want to hurt you. There’s a lot going on._ ”

For some reason, this annoyed him. “I know, Adam, I know! I’m stuck in the middle of a war, in case you’d forgotten!”

“ _I haven’t forgotten. Look, we’ll talk later, all right? Can I call you back? Will your PDA work?”_

“It should.”

“ _Very well. If you haven’t heard from me in a couple of days, call me back.”_ A pause. “ _Keith, be careful. Take care of yourself._ ”

“Yeah, I will. And take care of yourself too.”

The call ended, leaving Keith dissatisfied with it. He looked down at the screen of his PDA, uncertain. What the hell was wrong with Adam all of a sudden? Why did he want to talk to Shiro? Did he want to threaten him, make him regret his relationship with Keith? That didn’t sound like Adam, yet the tight worry in his voice hadn’t sounded like him either. He was indeed a worrywart, but he was a worrywart who could usually hide it well. Maybe Keith should talk about this with Shiro, ask him if he knew what the matter was. Maybe Adam was simply angry that Shiro had defected to low town, or that he was getting tangled in a war that had nothing to do with him. In the long run, it didn’t matter. If Adam had something at the back of his mind, no amount of prying would make him spit it out. Keith had never been able to make him spill the beans about anything, and it was doubtful it would change now.

He stood there for a moment, closing his eyes. The brisk wind chilled his cheeks nicely. The bodysuit kept him perfectly warm, so much that he could spend hours here without getting cold. He didn’t feel like going back there right away. The close quarters suffocated him. Keith didn’t like people, especially not people in large quantities. He was someone who liked his privacy and there was absolutely no privacy to be had in there. He didn’t mind showering or changing in front of others, but he loathed sleeping where he could be seen. It made him feel vulnerable, too open; the knife under his pillow and Shiro’s body against his own were a small consolation. Lotor’s people were weird and they didn’t care for privacy. Keith couldn’t even take a leak without someone trying to strike a conversation with him. And the noise! Urgh, even at night there was noise—the guards on patrol, and the snores of the sleepers, and the cries of small children, and the moans of those having sex. It sucked. Keith felt like he couldn’t be alone for a moment. He wanted to be alone, he wanted to be able to sit down with Shiro somewhere and just talk without being interrupted half a million times. Hell, they had to rush their screwing because they wouldn’t be left alone even when they locked themselves in a bathroom stall. Keith was so damn thankful Shiro wasn’t nearly as bashful as Adam had made him out to be or they wouldn’t even be able to kiss.

He heaved a sigh—this was the price to pay. He’d chosen to be here, chosen to help Lotor in exchange for him keeping Lance’s family safe. The neighbourhood where his parents lived had taken a serious battering a few days ago. They could have been amongst the many wounded or dead. Instead, they were safe here and if all it took was Keith’s discomfort, he was more than willing to endure.

There was one thing left to be done before he could go back. He had to deal with Wor. They needed to clear things up. Wor had said he’d visit him not long before he left his flat, but he hadn’t heard from the alien since then. Keith didn’t know quite what to do with him. Now that he was with Shiro, he, of course, had to break things off between them. Keith couldn’t, in good conscience, sleep with another man, not even for money. Furthermore, there was that tidbit of information he’d learned about the slaves. This prickled at his conscience too. Keith had always considered himself a practical man, had thought he’d be willing to turn a blind eye to a lot of things for his own survival. Apparently, he still had some morals. Did that make him a hypocrite, though? Wor had told him there were slaves on Kaax'oits; it hadn’t bothered him until he learned there were humans involved. He didn’t think this made Wor a bad person, he just thought he should have been told about this. Maybe he was a bit to blame—he’d never thought to ask why Earth and Kaax'oits were signing a treaty, especially considering the fact humans had little to offer to these aliens.

Nervously, Keith texted Wor, asking that they meet at his earliest convenience. He was half surprised to realise he dreaded the meeting—he’d grown stupidly fond of Wor. Despite the weird, embarrassing questions, the childish curiosity, the laser-sharp gaze that saw into Keith’s soul, he’d enjoyed the time he’d spent with the alien. That couldn’t be said for a lot of his clients. Hell, that couldn’t be said of _any_ of his clients. Wor had been the only one Keith had enjoyed talking to, had felt some sort of connection to. He truly hoped the two of them could remain on good terms. He also hoped Wor wouldn’t take this as a sort of betrayal—the guy was kind, but he didn’t understand human emotions and he was a jealous lover. He had stated at the beginning of their arrangement that he didn’t want Keith sleeping with anyone else. Keith had been too happy to oblige up until he’d gotten together with Shiro. He couldn’t be certain that Wor would understand that.

Wor’s answer came quickly—he was free an hour from now. Keith simply had to choose a location for their meeting. He texted back the name of a street not too far from here before pocketing his PDA.

He needed some liquid courage or sugary bravery—too bad there was none to be had.

-

For once, he didn’t get startled by Wor’s arrival. The alien was already waiting for him by the time Keith reached their meeting place. Seeing Wor standing there made his heart beat faster. For the past hour, he’d been trying to find the right words to say. He’d remained outside the HQ to think, looking for a way to explain his decision. Wor wasn’t some random client, he deserved an explanation.

“You look good dressed like that,” Wor commented, amused.

Keith hadn’t thought of changing out of his bodysuit and armour. It was warm, much warmer than ordinary clothes and so much more comfortable. He felt Wor’s gaze pressing against his skin, that unmoving, unblinking eye taking in every detail of his body.

“You’ve lost weight,” he remarked. “You’re leaner.”

“Army ration isn’t half as filling as you’d think and there isn’t any cake for me to stuff my face with.” Keith shrugged one shoulder. “And I’ve been training a lot.”

“I can tell. I was glad to read your text. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to visit sooner. That squabble between Commander Sendak and Prince Lotor has disrupted a lot of schedules.”

“It’s fine, I understand. I’ve been busy too.” Keith looked down at his feet, doing his best not to squirm. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Of course. What is it, darling?”

“I’ve got to come clean with you. I want to break off our arrangement.”

Wor remained silent for so long that Keith had to look up at him. Of course, his featureless face was impossible to read. Keith thought the lines of his body weren’t aligned as perfectly as usual, the only sign of his disquiet. He forced himself to meet the other’s gaze.

“I am sorry to hear that,” Wor said softly. “Is there a reason why?”

“Yes. Believe me, I wouldn’t be doing this otherwise. I…” Words failed him for a moment. He cleared his throat. “You remember that man I mentioned, Shiro?”

“Ah, yes, Takashi Shirogane. What of him?”

“I… he… we’re together, now. He’s confessed to me the other day. He’s my boyfriend, and that means I want to be with him. With _only_ him.”

Wor’s features remained still, yet the air around him seemed to shift, to grow sad. Keith didn’t know how to explain it—it just felt different. It made _him_ unhappy.

“Darling, I’m very happy for you. That man truly is lucky. I must admit that I’m quite disappointed for myself.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? There’s no reason to apologize, none at all. I am not your keeper, Keith, I won’t tell you who you can love and who you can be with. If you are happy in this, nothing else matters.”

“I am happy,” Keith assured firmly. “Shiro makes me happy, more than happy, actually. I couldn't ask for more.”

“I’m delighted to hear it, then. Thank you for telling me. What do you wish me to do with your license? I can sell it back to the city or simply have it annulled.”

“Annul it, please. I’m not going back to that.”

“Very well. This is a wise decision.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“The treaty between Kaax'oits and Earth, it’s about slaves, isn’t it?” Keith blurted out.

Wor made a weird gesture that Keith interpreted as a shrug. “Amongst other things. Why do you ask?”

“I just wanted to know. I might have stumbled upon a bunch of slave traders.”

Wor laughed, sounding delighted. “Really? And you rescued the slaves?”

“Yes?” Keith said guardedly.

“That’s all right, I don’t mind. I can see you’re outraged by this. Nobody likes slaves even if everybody profits from them. I won’t lie and tell you that those slaves you saved would have been treated well on my planet, Keith, you know better. They certainly would have died in a matter of months and we would have turned their bodies either to food or to compost. A few lucky might have been given a second life as an undead slave.”

“They were old.”

“Yes. Older minds are easier to control.”

“I see.”

Wor sighed. “I’m sorry this upsets you, darling. Perhaps I should have mentioned it. I simply didn’t think it would matter.”

Keith didn’t know what to say, didn’t really know why it suddenly mattered. He had simply felt so much _anger_ at the sight of those humans all chained up, unconscious, ready to be sold like unfeeling cattle. _Lance_ had been amongst these people. Even if he hadn’t been bound for Kaax'oits, he still would have been made a slave.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Wor asked, cutting Keith’s musings short.

“What?”

“Shh.”

Keith cocked an ear, suddenly alert. He heard it distinctly: the sound of footsteps coming from half a dozen persons at least. They were near Lotor’s HQ so he supposed this might be a patrol, except there wasn’t one due down here for another fifteen minutes. He tensed minutely, hand going for the knife at his belt. So far, no enemy had come this close to their command centre.

A lance of fire stabbed him in the leg. Pain exploded in every cell of his body. His muscles contracted so hard he couldn’t even cry out. Flame-like heat rushed in his blood and sent his brain into overdrive. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t think. The agony lasted forever until blackness yawned and welcomed him.

 -

Keith sat bolt upright with a cry. His body shook at remembered pain and he hunched over, panting and gasping for breath. His skin was covered in slick sweat. For a second, he couldn’t see or hear anything. His panic increased tenfold. He shook his head. Colours swam in front of his eyes and the sounds that did reach him were garbled, distorted. He blinked and blinked until details formed. He realised he couldn’t hear anything because he was panting too hard. He shivered from head to toe. There was the taste of bile at the back of his throat. It made him cough harshly.

As the panic receded somewhat, Keith realised he could feel a hand on his shoulder. He shut his eyes tightly for a second before opening them again. Slowly, the world reasserted itself around him. First, he recognized the smells of hundreds of people massed together. Second, the buzzing sound of many voices talking one over the other. Third, finally, his sense of touch came back. He was able to tell he was sitting up on his cot, blankets tangled around his legs, clothes sticking to his sweat-soaked skin.

“Keith, are you okay?”

This was Wor’s voice. Tiredly, Keith turned his head to see the alien standing beside his cot, his green eye luminescent against the gloomy background of the dimly-lit common room. Keith’s dry mouth made it difficult to talk.

“W-what—”

“You’re all right. We were attacked. You got hit by a taser gun. There shouldn’t be any lasting damage.”

“Who?”

“Some of Commander Sendak’s people, I presume.”

Keith had absolutely no recollection of what had happened. All he remembered was blinding pain. He’d been hit with a stun gun. He hadn’t even seen it coming. He rubbed his aching head, trying to put his thoughts into order.

“How long has it been?” he managed to ask.

“A couple of hours at least.”

“What happened to the guys?”

“I took care of them,” Wor said with grim amusement. “They won’t be bothering anyone ever again.”

Keith chucked weakly. “I almost feel bad for them.” He sobered up, looking the alien in the eye. “Thanks. You saved my skin out there.”

“There’s no need to thank me. I’m simply glad you will be fine. Prince Lotor was quite upset when he learned what had happened. He seems to be fond of you. You have a lot of friends who have been hovering.”

Keith looked around. His cot had been hurriedly isolated by a bunch of blankets, affording him some privacy. Through the thin fabric, he could see silhouettes milling about and hear the sound of anxious voices. He didn’t want to think about the panic that must have followed Wor’s arrival carrying his limp body in his arms—he was surprised Lance’s shrill shrieks of worry hadn’t woken him up.

“Do you want to see them?” Wor asked. “I’m afraid only my presence has been keeping them at bay so far.”

“You haven’t been too hard on them, haven’t you?”

“I might have terrorized a few of them because they were hovering quite too much…”

Keith had to smile. “Thanks. I mean it, Wor. You saved my life.”

Wor reached out to touch his raised knee and said softly: “When I saw you collapsing to the ground, I feared the worst. I thought they had killed you. I believe this is the closest I ever came to being afraid.”

Keith didn’t know what to answer. He understood. Every time he’d seen Lance being shot at or imagined Shiro slowly wasting away because of his disease, fear had encompassed him. It had been so overwhelming that it had burned away every other emotions. Keith had never been afraid for him—it was for others’ safety that his heart beat wildly in his chest and that his knees got weak. He couldn’t begin to imagine how disconcerting this must be for someone like Wor who had never had to fear anything in his whole life. To him, fear had most likely only been a word in the dictionary, an interesting condition that wrecked the human body once in a while. Keith remembered the first time he’d truly been afraid and he didn’t envy Wor this newfound sensation.

“Well, now I’m fine,” Keith assured the other. “Thanks to you.”

“Thanks to yourself, darling. I was told not every human being would have survived such a shock. You truly are strong.”

“Yet again another thing I owe to my Galra blood.” Keith sighed. “I suppose I should be thankful to be a half-breed.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Keith. You are who you are, Galra blood or not. Don’t think of yourself only as a half-breed. You are so much more than that.”

“Hmpf, you are truly a smooth talker, Wor. You could charm the pants off anyone.”

“Hm, too bad I don’t measure up to your policeman.”

Keith’s cheeks warmed. “It’s not the same. Shiro isn’t _charming_. He’s kind of awkward, really.”

“He didn’t seem that much awkward when I talked to him. He looked ready to strangle me when I told him you had been wounded.” Wor paused. “Darling, may I ask you something? Is your policeman a fellow human?”

The question took Keith aback. He didn’t know how to interpret this—was Wor being literal when he asked about Shiro’s humanity or was he joking? Wor was looking at him pretty intently so Keith supposed this was a serious question.

“Yes? I mean, he’s more of a human being than I am. Why?”

“He simply seemed different from other Earthlings I’ve met. I mean, his mind is different. This is not something that can be easily explained. Different species have different minds, just like they have different outward appearances. Your man’s mind is quite unlike any other human’s I have encountered.”

“What does that mean?”

Wor shrugged. “It can mean whatever you want it to mean, darling. I wouldn’t want to assume anything.”

“Well, I’m _asking_ you to assume, Wor! You can’t just drop a bomb like that and not explain!”

Wor said nothing, contemplating him. Keith returned his stare unflinchingly. He knew the alien wouldn’t lie, wouldn’t badmouth Shiro out of misplaced jealousy. He was on to something and Keith would be damned if he didn’t find out what it was. Could Shiro’s disease have altered his _mind?_ Could the trauma that have left him with so much mental and physical scarring? Keith didn’t know much about the mind, but this seemed unlikely. Minds weren’t tangible, they weren’t like the brain. Was Wor referring to the brain, or was he truly talking about the _mind_?

“A human being’s mind is like a corridor,” Wor began, choosing his word carefully. “It can be narrow or broad, sinuous or straight, but it still remains a corridor. Shirogane’s mind is different. It felt as if two corridors were overlapping one another, like he had two minds for his one body. Do you understand?”

“I understand the metaphor… but what does this _mean_?”

“I’m not quite sure. The slaves we subdue have their mind mostly taken over, yet a tiny trait of their personality forever remains. If you allow me to use this same example, it means that their corridor is still there, though tiny and insignificant. It gets taken over by one of our own. Our corridor crushes theirs, yet theirs remain nonetheless, like an imperfection in the brickwork. It can never be fully smoothed over.”

Keith felt sick to his stomach. What did this mean? “Is there any other species that can do what you do, taking over minds?”

Wor thought for a moment. “Not quite the same way we can, but I’ve heard that there were some peoples who could fiddle with the mind. Alteans can do it to an extent, though theirs is mostly a method to heal rather than overtake.”

“And the Galras?”

“No. The Galras aren’t a cerebral species. They’ve always focused on the body rather than the brain. The same goes for many species.”

In the end, it meant nothing. It changed nothing. He wondered if he wanted to know more about it, wondered if he _needed_ to know more. Shiro was Shiro, did the way his mind look like matter? Did that make him less of a human being? Keith didn’t care—he loved Shiro whether he was entirely human or not. Perhaps he’d ask Allura about this, perhaps the Alteans had something to do with Shiro’s mind, who knew.

“It doesn’t change anything,” Keith concluded firmly.

“No, you’re right, it doesn’t. If you wish, I could look into it. I must admit, this is quite fascinating.”

“Sure, if you like. I’d like to see him now, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, darling. I’ll send him over. Try to rest, afterward. You look tired.”

Keith nodded, too lost in his thoughts to answer. He barely had time to reflect on what had just been said that Shiro was there by his side, hugging him tightly. All tension oozed out of Keith’s body once those strong arms wrapped around his shoulders. He allowed himself to sag against Shiro’s chest. He was indeed tired and his whole body suddenly hurt.

Shiro sat on the cot beside him and caressed his hair gently, carding his fingers through the black locks. “Are you okay, baby? Fala healed you, but she said there might be some lingering pain.”

Face pressed into the fabric of Shiro’s shirt, Keith mumbled: “S’okay. Just tired.”

“I can tell. Look, how about we let you nap for a little while? Then you can eat.”

“Hm. As long as you nap with me.”

Shiro chuckled, the sound warm and vibrating in his chest. “Whatever you want, baby.”

The cot was too narrow and it was cramped, and Keith wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else in the world.


	35. Chapter 35

Two more weeks passed. Keith was back on his feet quickly, as expected. Lotor made a little speech about him, making him blush in embarrassment. Afterward, everything else went back to normal. Wor couldn’t stay so he left after he was certain Keith would be all right. Their relationship didn’t feel strained and Keith was thankful for it. They exchanged texts once in a while, nothing risqué as they had once been. It was nice, having him as a friend.

Sven, Hunk, Pidge, and the other engineers finally got the particle barrier to work. The HQ was now perfectly protected by a thick, nearly invisible shield that could be lowered at any moment. Once again, Lotor gave a little speech to thank those who had made it possible—the guy seemed to like to make a spectacle of himself and of others. Shiro once told Keith this was for the benefit of the new refugees who keep pouring in—Lotor wanted them to know they were safe and well-looked after. Every time something good happened, Lotor made sure everybody knew. It wasn’t quite for his own benefit, though he did love the adoration this got him from the civilians.

Nobody could complain about the prince so far. Lotor was truly a good leader who seemed to have no problem thinking about everybody and everything at all time. They never ran out of food or drinkable water or even soap for the shower. They were hungry and tired and cold most of the time, but it was far preferable to what the ordinary civilians stuck in low town had to go through. Food shortages were the least of their worries—blocks were destroyed every day, looters stole whatever wasn’t nailed down, nobody upheld the law, there was no staff in the hospitals or clinics, and communications still weren’t fixed. All in all, those living crowded cheek by jowl with Lotor were the lucky ones.

Keith, just like everybody at Lotor’s disposition, was put to good use all the time. When he wasn’t busy trying to maintain some order in low town, he was being sent to every corner of the city to either retrieve food or scout for Sendak’s emplacement. Pidge was fairly certain her trackers would be operational in a matter of time so Keith revisited those he’d already planted, making sure they hadn’t been damaged. Once in a while, he encountered an enemy patrol. Sendak was encroaching more and more into Lotor’s territory. Block by block, the prince was losing ground. The further back they were pushed, the harder it was to look for the enemy’s command base. Keith still could sneak past patrols, but it was getting riskier every day. Sendak seemed to have an endless supply of soldiers so, no matter how many were killed, that same amount was ready to fight the next day. It was a small blessing he couldn’t use Sentries—Lotor would have been doomed otherwise.

It wasn’t an easy life, but it was one that suited Keith. He didn’t mind following the orders of a man who knew where he was going. He was fine with going to bed every night exhausted. If he were completely honest with himself, the only thing he truly missed was abundant food and the freedom to walk the streets as he liked. Ever since he’d been randomly attacked a couple of weeks ago, Lotor had decreed that his people who left the HQ had to do so in group of five. It meant Keith could no longer wander about in the middle of the night to clear his mind or simply enjoy some alone time. Not that there was alone time to be had—there were so many people inside that building Keith wondered how Lotor found room for them all. They had to take turns using the bathroom, using the showers, and getting food from the mess hall. Soon, Keith was pretty sure they would take turn sleeping in the cots. Still, it wasn’t so bad. At least he had Shiro.

Ah, Shiro, the man that would be the death of him. Every time Keith laid eyes upon him, his heart stuttered in his chest. He had to constantly remind himself that yes, they were together, no, this wasn’t a dream. Every time they kissed or touched, Keith felt as if he would just combust. Every time he caught Shiro’s eye on him, every time Shiro bestowed a smile upon him, Keith felt as if his veins were filled with fire. Shiro was everything and so much more than he had ever dreamed. He was kind and patient and gentle. He could make jokes and he wasn’t afraid to make a fool of himself. He was funny, he knew when to poke gentle fun at Keith. He knew when to be silent and he knew when to talk. He was a constant presence at Keith’s elbow, like a wall ready to support his weight.

Keith should be happy with him—he _was_ happy with him. Yet there was something bugging him. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it. Shiro was odd. Sometimes, his behaviour made absolutely no sense. He acted like he was a totally different person, so much that Keith didn’t recognize him. He was far, far bolder than Keith would have imagined. He was always respectful, but Keith had never imagined he’d _ask_ for sex, more like he’d hint at it subtly. That was how Adam had described it when they were together anyway. Furthermore, it came as a surprise that Shiro would be this possessive. He wasn’t aggressively so, he just didn’t like when Keith spent too much time with other folk, male or female. When they were together, Shiro always tried to ingratiate himself, like he was uncertain whether what he did pleased Keith.

All of that, Keith could have explained: Shiro had changed in his behaviour mostly because Adam and Keith were different. Shiro had been tamer with Adam because that was how Adam behaved, and Shiro was more adventurous with Keith because that was how Keith behaved. Maybe he’d been possessive with Adam, Keith couldn’t know. No, what really troubled him was the way Shiro _talked_. Sometimes, he’d just stop in the middle of a sentence, his expression going blank like he had no idea where he was. Whenever they talked about the past, Shiro would hesitate, as if he couldn’t remember or as if he had to dig deeply to find the memory. He talked about Adam as if their breakup was recent even though it had happened years ago. Once, he said that he was twenty-six rather than twenty-nine before laughing it off when Keith pointed it out. His memories of what had happened before he’d been captured were fuzzy, the timeline wonky.

Keith could have let it slide, could have chalked it all off as being trauma from whatever had happened during those two years of absence. Except that Shiro wasn’t taking his meds. Keith knew the exact time of the day when he had to take this pill or that injection, so he watched him closely. The hour would roll by without Shiro noticing. He never reached for his bag where, Keith had supposed, he’d keep his medication. Adam had said that one week off the meds would render Shiro weak. Two weeks would see him bedridden. Three weeks would surely see him dead. It had been nearly a month and still Shiro didn’t take a damn pill, not even for those bloody migraines that plagued him relentlessly. Keith worried. When he asked, Shiro said he did what needed to be done. When Keith insisted, Shiro just smiled winsomely and told him not to worry. When Keith rummaged through Shiro’s bag and didn’t find anything remotely resembling medicine, Shiro had said Lotor was the one keeping an eye on it.

This was simply too much—since when had Shiro became such a good friend to Lotor that he’d let the prince handle his medication? Keith wasn’t jealous, this just didn’t make any kind of sense. Why put his life, almost literally, into the hands of a man he barely knew? Keith couldn’t get angry at Shiro, couldn’t ask questions, not when Shiro looked at him with eyes that begged him to understand. Shiro was conflicted, had been for days. Whenever he wasn’t busy, he’d just sit there looking lost, confused, so much like a lost puppy that people would ask him if he was all right. Keith didn’t understand—when he asked, of course Shiro said that he was fine. They talked, but they didn’t _speak_. Shiro never opened up to him and Keith didn’t know how to pry.

That mix of happiness and misery was making him sick to his stomach. He had no idea what was going on. At night, Shiro would cling to him as if afraid he’d just disappear. There was a fever in his eyes when they made love, a sort of desperation that Keith didn’t understand. Shiro was acting like a man doomed—like he knew his death was coming. It was coming, just not soon, not yet. The doctors had said he still had a few good years left. He wouldn’t drop dead tomorrow.

The meds, Keith thought, Shiro still had a few good years in front of him because of the meds. If he didn’t take them, years could transform into months. What was wrong with him? What was Keith doing wrong? This question kept him up. What if he was the problem, not Shiro? Shiro had never been so contrary with Adam. He’d been like a puppy, happy to take his medicine in exchange of a pat on the head. Why was it different with Keith? He didn’t understand. He was frustrated and angry and so, so afraid. He was failing Shiro. He’d wanted Shiro for so long, had claimed he’d know what to do once they were together, and here he was, lost. It made him feel like a child again, like a stupid brat. He didn’t want to call Adam to ask for help. He was afraid Adam would tell him he was in over his head, that he’d told him to find someone better than a sick, dying _Takashi_.

He decided to try one last thing before calling for reinforcements. He didn’t want to call Adam unless he’d tried everything he could on his own.

One morning, he got up before dawn, leaving Shiro to snore away, and quietly tiptoed to Lotor’s private quarters. The prince kept three rooms to himself where he slept, sometimes ate, and met with his generals when matters of secrecy arose. His warriors were allowed to disturb him if needed, but he’d made it clear he’d prefer if the civilians refrained themselves from doing so. Everybody was half in love with him so nobody saw it as a problem. They all understood that, while a public figure, Lotor still needed time on his own to do whatever it was Galra princes needed to do.

Keith had never been here before. He’d never needed to seek out Lotor once he’d retired, so he stood in front of the sliding door with some uncertainty. The woman keeping watching glanced at him out the corner of her eye without commenting. She knew him so she didn’t shoo him away. Keith squared his shoulders—Shiro kept talking about Lotor so Lotor had to know something. If the meds were truly in his possession, it was time Keith reclaimed them.

“Can I go in or do you have to announce me?” he asked the woman.

Just like every other of Lotor’s people, she was half-breed. The Galra gene being so recessive, her features were more humanoid than feral. Keith had no idea what her other half was—the amused quirk of her eyebrow looked human enough though.

“You can go in, he won’t mind if it’s you.”

There was teasing in her tone, as if she didn’t believe he would truly go in unannounced. She was in for a rude awakening.

Keith took hold of the door and slid it open with a sharp tug. He froze in the motion of stepping over the threshold. Four pairs of eyes turned to look at him from a mound of blankets piled atop a bed. Four pairs of eyes. Four pairs of eyes belonging to four very naked people.

“Oh! It’s Krolia’s boyfriend!” Ezor exclaimed, delighted. “Come, join us! There’s enough room for you!”

He stood there, rooted to his spot, gaping. Lotor was in bed with Ezor, Zethrid, and Axca. They were all naked and Keith had clearly interrupted while they were… having fun. He’d suspected it, of course, and he’d heard the rumours. He just wished he didn’t have to see it with his own eyes.

“My, my, aren’t you a bit shy for a rent boy?” Lotor asked with a smirk. “Don’t tell me you’ve never participated in a foursome?”

Keith refused to blush and refused to look away. He fixed his eyes on a point above the bed. “Not with women, no.”

“No? What a shame. Women are better than men at everything, even at fucking. Give a good strap-on to any girl and she’ll give you the ride of your life.”

“Right.” Lotor kept grinning and Keith knew this was some test. Would he run away or would he state his business? He looked at the prince. “I need to talk to you. About Shiro.”

“Aww, not him again,” Ezor said with a pout. “Everybody’s talking about that Shiro. He isn’t _that_ great.”

If Ezor and Zethrid were totally unbothered by their nakedness, Axca was looking ill-at-ease. She’d pulled the blanket over his chest, hiding herself. She kept her head lowered so her purple bangs hid her face.

Lotor’s grin widened. He hummed. “Ah, yes. Is there trouble in paradise already?”

“No. I need his meds.”

Zethrid groaned and rolled her eyes. “Can’t you come back later for that?! We were busy! Either scram or join us, just don’t stand there!”

Keith pointedly kept his eyes on the prince. He hoped his face was schooled to his once-perfect mask of utter boredom.

“Meds?” Lotor repeated, frowning. “I wasn’t aware Shirogane needed medication.”

“What? Don’t play dumb! He said you kept them with you!”

Lotor, who’d been slouching, one arm wrapped around Axca and the other wrapped around Ezor, sat up properly. He had the distinctive grace of a lethal cat. Each of his movement was deliberate, poised. Looking at him seated there bare-chested, Keith suddenly understood why women got weak in the knees at the sight of him. He was good-looking, his self-assurance layered on top of his cunning intelligence and ruthless bravado making him difficult to resist.

“Well, I’m very sorry to say that your Shiro lied to you, Keith. I’ve never heard anything of the sort. What kind of medication does he need?”

Ezor giggled before hiding her mouth behind her hand. Zethrid threw her a warning look. Keith suddenly had the distinct impression that he was being made fun of. Lotor’s face was smooth enough to hide his thoughts, but his generals weren’t so well-versed in the art of deception. They knew something and they had fun withholding it from him.

Keith suddenly had the very unsettling feeling of being alone in the world. It was as if he were standing outside looking in, unable to understand what was happening. Everybody seemed to know what was going on except him. Adam too had known something, he’d heard it in his voice, something that apparently even Lotor knew. What in hell could these two men have in common?

He had to make an effort not to march out of here. If he did, Lotor would never respect him again. There was expectation in his eyes—he was watching Keith the way a cat watches a mouse. He expected him to bolt, to run away from the truth. And damn did Keith want to run. He hated not understanding, hated being ridiculed. He thought he’d earned Lotor’s, if not trust, at least his respect. Apparently not. Lotor preferred to make him stew in his own uncertainty rather than put him out of his misery. Well, Keith wouldn’t allow it.

He crossed his arms over his chest and jutted his chin in the way teachers had called _arrogantly stubborn_. If he had to stand here all day to have an answer, he would.

Lotor observed him for a moment, testing his patience. When it became clear that Keith wouldn’t budge, he sighed. With a wave of his hand, he indicated for his generals to leave them. Keith averted his eyes when they got up from the bed, naked, to climb into their clothes. Axca was the first out the door, soon followed by Zethrid and Ezor. Ezor offered him a wink before sliding the door shut behind her.

There were only Keith and Lotor in the room now. The prince didn’t look in a hurry to be up. He lounged on his bed, back resting against propped up pillows. He had a good, large bed that hadn’t been cramped for four people. The sheets looked to be black silk. Other than the bed itself, the room was bare. Lotor, just like his soldiers, lived humbly.

“So?” Keith demanded once they were alone.

Lotor heaved a long suffering sigh. “I really don’t know what you want me to tell you, Keith. It is true that I don’t know of any meds Shiro has to take. He’s never mentioned anything of the sort to me.”

“But you know _something_.”

An elegant shrug. “I know a lot of things. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Don’t play games with me! Shiro’s life’s on the line!”

“I wouldn’t have taken a sick soldier with me, Keith. I don’t have time to play nursemaid, not even to a handsome bloke like this policeman. He doesn’t seem sick to me.”

“But he is. He’s been sick all his life. He suffers from Becker Muscular Dystrophy. He has to take a lot of meds just to function. He hasn’t been taking any of them ever since we arrived here. It’s been a month. He should either be dead or in agony.”

“I don’t know this disease. I can tell this bothers you greatly, however. Would it appease you if I were to lend you one of my doctors?”

Keith didn’t know what to think of this offer. Was this an olive branch or simply a distraction so he’d stop with his questions? He gritted his teeth, hating how easily Lotor outwitted him. Shiro hated being probed and prodded at by doctors, but at least this would give Keith a definite answer. Could Allura’s alchemy have healed Shiro’s disease the way it had healed Keith’s slashed cheek? Even if it had, it wouldn’t explain why Shiro hadn’t brought any of his meds and why he kept insisting Lotor had them.

“Yeah, I guess,” Keith grumbled, unhappy.

Lotor smiled, sharp canines glinting. “Very well. We—”

The door slid open noisily. Annoyed, Keith turned to see a civilian man standing there, looking disheveled and haggard. There was a wild look in his eyes as he took in the room. His gaze fell on Lotor. He reached into his pocket in short, jerky motions and fished out a small cylinder. Sweat poured down his face.

“I-I’m sorry! He said he’d kill my family if I didn’t do it!”

Keith’s stomach dropped. Time froze around him. He saw the man’s thumb descending towards a button in a slow motion. Shit. A bomb. The guy had a bomb. That explained the weird lump under his clothes. He was two feet from Keith. The blast would kill him. The blast would certainly kill Lotor. He didn’t have time to think—he threw himself on Lotor just as the bomb went off.

A flash. Noise. Pressure. Exploding pain all throughout his body. He got the impression that his limbs were bearing torn off, that his skin was being licked by flames, that his sinews were being sawed off. His mind went blank as the world turned white, then bright red, then pitch black.

-

A hacking cough tore Keith from unconsciousness. His eyes flew open as he coughed, his ribs aching and his lungs burning. A large weight resting across his lower body prevented him from rolling on his side. He kept coughing, spittle flying from his mouth as his eyes watered. He couldn’t take in a breath—there was too much dust sticking to his throat. Burning pain mingling with growing panic made it impossible to breathe. His stomach heaved once and he barely had time to turn his head to the side that he was throwing up an acidic stream of bile. It did dislodge some of the dust from his throat, allowing him to take in a small breath. He kept coughing as he reached up to his face with a trembling, heavy hand. It was dark—he couldn’t see much even through the haze of tears. He wiped his mouth—there was wetness on his lips, but he couldn’t see whether it was spit, puke, or blood. Pain wrecked his body. He shivered violently as sweat broke out all over his skin.

He looked around himself, using both his eyes and his hands. There was a large piece of concrete lying across his hips, pinning him down. It hadn’t crushed him—some metal piping kept it propped up half an inch from his body. He could feel his toes when he wriggled them so he supposed his legs were fine. His arms, torso, and face were covered in painful, bloody scratches. There was dust everywhere. Other pieces of concrete had fallen all around him, walling him in effectively. Through cracks, thin light filtered. He coughed weakly, pain wracking his body.

The bomb. He could hardly believe it even if he were stuck in its wreckage. Some man had walked into Lotor’s room and detonated a bomb. Keith felt more dismayed than angry at this. With hindsight, he realised it had been long coming: Lotor welcomed anyone with open warms. There was never any questions asked—every refugee who sought asylum was given it. They didn’t have the right to be surprised that Sendak had heard of this and used it to his advantage. He could have ended the war with one single stroke. Hell, maybe he had won the war—Keith didn’t know whether Lotor had been hurt or not. He remembered throwing himself at the prince, whether to protect him or to get away from the bomb, he wasn’t certain. After that, there was only blackness. His ears still hummed after the blast so he couldn’t hear much. He had no idea what was happening outside his small cocoon of concrete.

Keith tried to move—he needed to get out of here before all that dust suffocated him. That piece of concrete pinning him down made it difficult. He feared that wiggling around too much would make it crash down on his hips. He had to slide from beneath it. He looked around, walking his hands on the walls that surrounded him, trying to get an idea of how much room he had to manoeuvre. Not much, apparently. From a great distance came the sound of voices. Logically, the blast had alerted everybody from the HQ. There were at least four people who knew Keith had been in here with Lotor, so they’d know to look for him. Perhaps it would be best to lie down quietly while waiting to be rescued.

He coughed again. His lungs burned. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving him exhausted. Every part of his body throbbed dully. He became slowly aware of a sharp pain in his upper right thigh, a stabbing sensation. Warily, Keith reached down there. His fingers encountered blood on his pant leg. Then, perhaps three inches below his hip, there was a thick, metal rod sheathed into the meat of his thigh. As if touching it made it all real, a wave of pain racked his body. His leg twitched involuntarily. More blood gushed. Trembling, he kept prodding about, trying to understand how deep this went. It seemed to go all the way through his leg and into the floor beneath, effectively pining him there. He swore loudly, biting down on his fist to stop himself from crying out.

Either the blood loss or the lack of clean breathing air made his head hazy. Keith lost a few seconds. The coppery taste in his mouth from his bitten knuckles sharpened his wits for a moment before they dulled anew. The logical part of his brain knew that he wouldn’t die here—there were hundreds of people around and he hadn’t loss so much blood that it would kill him. The emotive part of his brain refused to be so easily mollified. He imagined himself bleeding to death or asphyxiating. It was stupid. He did his best to push back those thoughts, to focus on the pain because at least this was tangible and real.

A bright shard of light fell across his closed eyes. Keith jerked, instinctively trying to get away from it. Dust fell across his face, sticking to his sweaty skin. He made a pained sound at the back of his throat. The brightness blinded him. He opened his mouth to speak, and whatever had been on his tongue turned into a scream of pain as the rod in his leg moved. Hot blood gushed, pooling beneath his body.

Someone was talking. He thought they might be talking to him until he caught the word _dad_ amidst the whirl of pain. Was he the one talking? Was he calling out to his father?

“Keith, Keith, look at me, it’s fine.”

He recognized his name. His consciousness latched upon that familiar word. He tilted his head back, daring to open his eyes a sliver. A silhouette stood between him and the shard of light, thankfully casting a shadow. He couldn’t see any features.

“Shiro?” he mumbled weakly.

No, this wasn’t Shiro. The hands that touched his face were flesh and blood, both of them. They combed his sweat-matted hair out of his eyes. He blinked and, slowly, a face came into focus.

“Sven…”

Yes, that was Sven crouching over him all right. The guy smiled in relief, such an unusual sight that it surprised Keith even in his state. Sven talked soothingly, explaining that they would do their best to get him out of his predicament without further hurting him. Keith tried to speak, but his tongue felt like lead. He drifted off for a moment until Sven’s voice called him sharply back to the moment.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he ordered.

There were others speaking around. Sven looked over his shoulder at someone, telling them to hurry, to be careful, being uncharacteristically brisk and demanding. At all time he kept one hand on Keith’s face, his skin warm and callused and an anchor point for Keith’s drifting mind.

They tried to pry his leg free gently. There was simply no room to manoeuvre, not with such a large piece of concrete. They couldn’t cut the rod free without risking his own flesh.

After what seemed like forever, Keith mumbled: “Just tear it out. It’s fine.”

Sven’s eyes widened. “What? No, we can’t do that. It’ll hurt you.”

“I’m already hurting and bleeding. Do it…!”

Sven gritted his teeth. He said something to someone out of Keith’s line of sight. His eyelids drooped. Damn it, would they get this over with so he could just rest? Sven talked to him, his words devoid of any real meaning.

Then, the piece of concrete was shifted. The length of steel was abruptly pulled from Keith’s flesh in a gush of blood. Pain seized him. He shrieked, his spine bowing as he tried to sit up. Sven pushed him back down, using both hands to keep him pinned to the ground. Fire ran through Keith’s veins as he groaned and whined, coughing and panting and spitting. His head spun. There was pressure on his ruined thigh, pressure that made him cry out again. He tried to get away from it without much success. Sven didn’t relent, didn’t allow him to pull away.

Finally, the agony receded to a more tolerable level. Sven’s grip loosened enough for Keith to raise himself on one elbow. Someone had wrapped a bandage around his leg, staunching the wound and slowing the blood. Already though, the white linen was turning red. Keith’s pants were soaked with it. He felt lightheaded just looking at it. He’d been hurt before, but never had it been such a close call. He’d been so _lucky_ —if the rod had pierced his leg more to the left, it would have clipped an artery and he’d have died in minutes.

He knew protesting when Sven picked him up was useless. He couldn’t walk and trying to do so would only aggravate the wound. He was too tired to complain, anyway. Darkness oozed at the corner of his eyes. It wanted to engulf him, threatened to take him under. He resisted, pouring the last of his strength into staying awake. He needed to know whether Lotor had survived. If the prince had died, then everything had been for nothing.

The room had been utterly destroyed. The walls and ceiling had caved in. The once-luxurious bed had been smashed to smithereens. The air was full of dust. Still, through the swirling particles of old plaster, Keith easily spotted Lotor. His long white hair was disheveled, his purple skin was grazed, but he lived and stood on his own two feet. Shiro was with him, hands on his shoulders, eyes full of worry. He never once looked away from the prince, never once glanced towards Keith.

The pain beneath his breastbone suddenly felt much bigger than the one in his thigh.


	36. Chapter 36

Fala’s healing hurt. Keith suffered through it without a sound, teeth gritted, mind elsewhere. She talked to him softly as she worked her special kind of magic, reassuring him and telling him how brave he was being. He lied on the table, eyes focused on the ceiling. The hard surface beneath him hurt. The healing drained the remainder of his strength. Fala had taken one look at the wound and said it would take two or three sessions before she could fix it perfectly. Healing took its toll on both patient and healer, and Keith was already weakened due to blood loss. He didn’t quite care.

It had been an hour already since Sven had rescued him from the debris. Shiro hadn’t stopped by to see how he was doing. Lance and Allura and even James had come by before being shooed away, but not Shiro. Fala told him he was still with Lotor, and it brought more questions than it answered. He didn’t understand. If their situation had been reversed, Keith would have rushed to Shiro’s bedside. He’d have made sure his charge was all right before going to his boyfriend’s side. That was what people who loved each other did, wasn’t it?

Instead, Sven staid. He kept one steadying hand on Keith’s shoulder throughout the healing, lending him strength. Keith was stupidly comforted by the presence. Sven felt solid and strong safe in a way he hadn’t experienced often. Stupidly, Keith wished _Adam_ had been there. Adam had horrible bedside manners, but he had always been Keith’s oasis of peace and safety.

And maybe he would have an explanation for Shiro’s absence.

Fala burned away any infection from the wound and made sure he wouldn’t bleed to death. Keith winced when she gently redressed the hole in his leg.

“We’ll continue tomorrow,” she said gently. “You need to sleep and regain your strength first. I’ll have someone bring you some food.”

“All right. Thanks, Fala.”

She smiled, white teeth flashing. “You’re very welcome!”

Sven had to help him to his cot—Fala made him promise not to put any weight on his right leg up until she said it was all right. It sucked having to be carried around like an invalid, but Keith obeyed. He’d been warned that being too hasty might cripple him. Fala’s magic had limits. If he overstrained himself, it was possible she might not be able to fix the damage. So he suffered being carried to his cot by a guy who’d been a stranger weeks ago. Though Sven was careful, being put down on the cot hurt. New sweat broke all over Keith’s skin. His clothes were drenched with it. He felt icky and sticky. His oily hair stuck to his cheeks and smelled of brick dust.

Sven awkwardly covered him with the blanket, careful not to touch the naked skin of his leg where his pants had been cut away.

“Thank you,” Keith said as the other got up to leave.

“There’s no need to thank me. I’m simply glad you’re all right.”

“I’ll live. What about the prince?”

“Prince Lotor escaped without a scratch. You were lucky—the bomb was badly wired. It didn’t explode at full force. Both of you would be dead otherwise.”

“Uh. So Sendak sent that man?”

Sven shrugged. “He died, so we can’t know for sure.”

“We can’t let any more refugee in. That bomb could’ve killed more than Lotor and me. What if the whole building had collapsed?”

“Prince Lotor will decide of that. It’s not our call.”

“I suppose not.”

Keith meant to ask more, but his words became slurred. He was too tired to keep his eyes open. Sleep claimed him.

-

Night was falling when Keith came to. The buzz of many conversations hurt his painful head. He felt sluggish, his body heavy. His right thigh thrummed in pain, deceptively dull until he was dumb enough to move. He stayed there, suddenly thirsty with the taste of dust at the back of his dry throat. The sweat had dried on his skin, leaving him cold and miserable.

“Hey, the princess wakes.”

Keith turned his head on his pillow to see James seated beside his cot. He groaned—this guy wasn’t the one he’d hoped to see upon waking.

“Water,” Keith croaked.

James handed him a canteen of water as if it had been ready for him beside the cot. Keith drank awkwardly and deeply from it, feeling the blessedly cool liquid sliding down his throat. He coughed then handed the canteen back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What are you doing here?” Keith asked.

James raised an eyebrow. “It was my turn to stand guard over you. A lot of people want to see you. They think you stopped that bomber from killing Lotor. You’re a hero.”

“What? No, that’s not what happened.”

A shrug. “That’s what the rumour says. Fala has asked a few of us to make sure you slept undisturbed. It’s my turn. Lance’s gone to feed his daughter. That girl named Pidge and the big guy with her had their turn. Now it’s mine.”

“How long did I sleep?”

“Most of the day. It’s normal, apparently.”

Pidge, Hunk, Lance, and James. Not Shiro. Keith didn’t want to ask James, didn’t want to appear weak, but he was tired and his heart hurt as much as his body.

“Shiro?”

Keith would have missed James’ pitying look if he hadn’t been staring him in the face. “No. He’s busy with Prince Lotor.” A pause. “Do you want me to fetch him?”

He didn’t know what he wanted. His eyes burned. He felt sick to his stomach, what little water in he had drank roiling unsteadily in his belly. Should he say yes? Should he ask James to fetch Shiro? Keith shouldn’t have to ask. Shiro should have been here, should have been the one rescuing him and the one at his bedside. That was how it worked, wasn’t it? Adam had always been at Shiro’s beside when he was sick, and woe to anyone trying to take him from there. Keith had to be doing something wrong.

He shook his head. No, he had to compose himself. He had to _think_. The explosion had rattled him, but it hadn’t made him forget why he’d been in Lotor’s room in the first place. He still hadn’t pierced the mystery of Shiro’s meds or his sudden good health. Lotor hadn’t supplied much information. Keith still had the niggling suspicion that the prince knew more than he let on. Perhaps he should ask James to fetch him rather than Shiro.

But no, he wasn’t in shape to meet with anyone right now. He was too tired—he’d make a mess of things.

“You know, it’s the second time I see you lying half-dead in a bed,” James said conversationally.

“I’m not half-dead. I’ll be back on my feet tomorrow.”

“Probably.” James leaned in slightly. “What’s wrong between Shirogane and you?”

“Nothing,” Keith lied, looking away. “Mind your own business. I can still kick your ass from my bed.”

“Please, you should be a better liar. You think I don’t have eyes to see?”

“Your eyes should be on something else than me!”

“Perhaps, but I can’t help it, especially not when you wear that sinfully tight bodysuit. Anyway, I’ve seen it, that weird vibe between the two of you.”

“You know nothing, James. Shut up. I certainly won’t be taking relationship advice from you.”

“All right. Look, let me just say that: I think there’s something between Shirogane and Prince Lotor. I’m not saying this to badmouth him. I’m not the only one who’s noticed it, you can ask around if you don’t believe me. Whenever your back’s turned, they’re always together. That time you got shot? They were together, that’s why he wasn’t with you when you woke up, not because the alien kept him away. They always talk together first thing in the morning. Once, when I couldn’t sleep, I even saw Shirogane—”

“James, please, stop.”

“I saw Shirogane go to the prince’s room, in the middle of the night. I’m not being cruel, Keith. I know you love the guy so that’s why I’m telling you. You don’t deserve to be cheated on, or whatever’s going on between these two.”

Keith pressed his hands into his eyes, breathing steadily. He didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to hear anymore. Ezor’s words came rushing back _not this Shiro again_ as if someone kept talking about him to her. He remembered a million tiny instances when he saw Shiro and Lotor talking, that one time when Lotor had thrown an exasperated look at Shiro that had reminded Keith so much of Adam’s way of looking at his wayward boyfriend. James was wrong, damn it. Lotor and Shiro? No, that didn’t make sense. And even _if_ there had been something there, Shiro wouldn’t have thrown himself on Keith. He was loyal, steadfast, he wouldn’t cheat.

So _what_ was going on? If he couldn’t trust Shiro, who else could he trust?

The pressure in his chest and behind his eyes increased. He dug the heel of his hands into his eyes, feeling the wet eyelashes. For the longest moment, Keith was certain he wouldn’t be able to keep the tears at bay. He hadn’t cried since he was eleven, he couldn’t begin again now. Not in front of James, not in the midst of so many people. He took long, calming breaths through his stuffed nose until the panic receded somewhat.

“Maybe I’m a bad boyfriend,” Keith mumbled through numb lips.

He hadn’t thought the words had been loud enough to be heard until he saw James’ eyebrows climb up his forehead. Keith froze. Suddenly, he felt so very weak and small and useless as he laid there in the bed, barely able to move. James was regarding him strangely, purple eyes surprised. Keith didn’t want to hear what he had to say. This was James, not Lance—the words that would spill from his lips were sure to be insults. _Of course you’re a bad boyfriend,_ they would say, _you’re a slut, what do you know of relationships? Of course Shirogane will tire of you. What have you got to offer except for nice bed tricks?_

“That guy knew what he was getting into,” James said with a wave of his hand. “You say he’s known you for most of your life, right? If he’s surprised by the way you are, it means he didn’t know you much.”

Was that a backhanded compliment? Keith couldn’t tell. “Shut up, James.”

“You say that just because you know I’m right. Even if you were a bad boyfriend anyway, it’d still be shitty of him to seek out someone else.”

Keith observed the other man for a moment, honestly taken aback by the gentleness in James’ voice. It contrasted sharply with the usual condescending tone he used when talking to Keith. He didn’t know what to think of that change. The words hit home, past the defenses he kept up at all time. James was right, yet it was difficult to accept. Keith was many things: he was a crook and a teller of half-truths and a heartless fighter, but he wasn’t a cheater. Of all his faults, he didn’t cheat. He’d never cheated his customers. He’d paid his taxes honestly and he’d paid every cent he’d ever owed to anyone. Cheating was something he couldn’t abide.

“We don’t know that’s what Shiro is doing,” he said. “It’s so unlike him.”

There was no proof, nothing tangible. It was all circumstantial—it wasn’t as if they’d caught Shiro and Lotor with their pants around their ankles. Yet it was enough to look bad, enough to put a dart of doubt in Keith’s heart. ‘What ifs’ scenarios kept playing in his mind. What if James was right, what if Shiro cheated, what if Shiro was tired of him already, what if Keith wasn’t good enough. He was usually so sure of himself, why was he being so doubtful about his own worth now?

“I don’t know, I don’t know him,” James concluded with a shrug. “You reach your own conclusions.”

“When have you become so wise when it comes to relationships?”

“I’ve been in relationships before, idiot.”

Keith threw him a doubtful look. “Uh, really?”

James bristled. “Of course! Look at me, I’m a good catch for anyone!”

“Right. Whatever. I’m going to sleep now.”

“Fala said you have to eat to regain your strength. Let me fetch you something from the mess hall. Don’t fall asleep while I’m gone.”

Keith doubted he could sleep with his mind running like a headless chicken around in his head. His body felt heavy, his limbs like lead. His thigh throbbed dully. He wondered if he could be given something for the pain—it would certainly make falling asleep that much easier. Once James had departed, he was alone in his makeshift cocoon of privacy. He heard everything going on around him—people were all talking about the bombing of that morning. He tried not to think back to that moment of panic when he’d realised the man had a bomb strapped to his chest. He’d been certain he’d either die or be maimed permanently. He hadn’t expected to get out of there with only a hole in his leg. It seemed oddly cruel as well as unfair to the man who’d killed himself to protect his family. He’d died in vain, certain that his death had accomplished something. Keith wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Sendak had killed his family when he got news that Lotor still lived.

He drifted for a while. When James came back with food, he forced himself to eat. He was too queasy and too tired to enjoy food—the goo tasted like rubber and he would have given his left arm for a real meal, preferably something cooked either by Adam or Hunk. James kept talking to him, innocuous chatter that served as background noise. He was being strangely patient with Keith, not once getting angry when all he got were monosyllabic words in answer. Keith was too exhausted to be suspicious of such out-of-character behaviour. Either James wanted something in exchange for his kindness or he was simply being nice for the sake of it. Keith would figure it out once his strength had been restored.

He didn’t remember falling into a black, dreamless sleep. He woke up next morning, feeling better if somewhat stiff. His leg hurt like the devil and the mere brush of the blanket against the bandage made him grit his teeth. Other than that, his body didn’t feel as weak; there was strength in his limbs as he pushed himself into a sitting position. The beside duty had now fallen back to Lance who was sleeping sitting upright on a camp chair, head thrown back over the low backrest in an angle that couldn’t be comfortable. Keith reached out to poke him, waking him instantly. Then came the awkward, embarrassing shuffling to the bathroom with Lance having to support most of his weight. He took it all in stride, laughing, the sound carefree in a way Keith hadn’t heard in a while. He confided that he’d been spending a lot of time with Allura, as she wanted to know more about Earth, Neo-Metropolis, and human customs, and he felt it was his duty to educate her. Keith could tell how this pleased his friend and he was happy for him.

Once back in his cot with his bladder emptied, Keith endured another healing session with Fala. Though this one hurt less, he still had to bite his lip to stop himself from making any embarrassing sounds. Fala worked efficiently and thoroughly, not relenting despite his obvious discomfort. Her talking helped him somewhat focus on something other than the pain.

“Oh, by the way,” Fala said once she was finished. There was a bit of sweat on her forehead that she wiped away. “Prince Lotor wishes to speak with you once you’re strong enough.”

Keith didn’t know if he’d ever be strong enough to talk with Lotor again, not after he’d seen the man hogging all of Shiro’s attention; he feared he’d ask the prince whether Shiro and he were lovers. Still, he couldn’t quite refuse to see him since he kind of was his hierarchal superior. Better get this over with.

It had to be nearing noon when Keith finally spotted the prince standing on his own. Walking still pained him—his right leg felt too stiff to be comfortable. He hid it all behind a mask of coolness he wished he felt. Lotor was standing in a rare pocket of calm, his back against the wall, casually looking at a tablet. There was no trace of his recent ordeal on his body; even the scratches on his face were barely visible. Keith spotted them only because he knew they were there.

Lotor looked up at his approach and smiled: “Ah, Keith! Just the person I wished to see! You are feeling better, I trust?”

He did feel better, at least physically. He nodded. “Yes. Fala did an amazing job.”

“Of this, I have no doubt. Now, if you don’t mind following me, I’d like for us to speak in private.”

Lotor’s own private rooms had been destroyed by the bomb; the roof had been hurriedly patched up and the whole area corded off since it hadn’t been deemed safe. The prince had relocated his belongings to one corner where, just like the rest of them, he now slept on a narrow cot. If he were the worst for wear because of it, it didn’t show.

He guided them outside instead. As soon as the large doors closed behind them, the din of buzzing conversations fell to nothing. Cool air brushed against Keith’s heated cheeks; it was a crisp day, the sky pale blue and the sun shining surprisingly bright. The snow underfoot crunched as they walked around the HQ, keeping close to it instead of venturing into the no-man’s-land. Sendak’s patrols were getting closer, bolder, so they had to be careful when they left the HQ.

“So, I suppose I owe you thanks,” Lotor began coolly.

“Whatever for?”

“When that man walked into my room with the bomb, you threw yourself at me to protect me. Not everybody would do something so foolish.”

Keith looked up at the prince, bristling. “You are our commanding officer. Without you, the war would be lost and we’d be crushed by Sendak. I did what I had to do.”

Lotor laughed. “You really are full of surprises, Keith! I never expected you to be so loyal and trustworthy! And here I used to think you hated me.”

“What I feel for you is irrelevant. I just don’t want to be ruled by Sendak.”

“This makes sense. Anyway, as a thank you gift for your blind devotion, I believe I owe you the truth about your policeman.”

Keith stopped walking. He froze on the spot, eyes wide. The truth about Shiro? Did he really want to know? How would he react if Lotor said Shiro and he were lovers? How would he react if he learned that Shiro had lied to him? Keith felt sick to his stomach. Somehow, it wasn’t natural that Lotor would be the one revealing secrets about Shiro—Keith had known him the longest. They’d been as close as brothers for years. Keith had considered Shiro his best friend. He’d thought the feeling to be mutual. Why was it that Lotor knew things he didn’t? Did this mean Shiro trusted the prince more?

Lotor seemed to sense his dread because his features softened somewhat. “First, I must apologize for lying to you. When you came to me two days ago asking about Shirogane’s medicine, I pretended not to know what you were talking about. The truth is that I know he had to take medicine for his condition.”

“Had? As in the past?”

Lotor looked off into the distance, eyebrows lowered in a thoughtful frown. “I really have no idea how to explain all of this. Nobody was supposed to learn of this. Ah, anyway, I should have known. Keith, the Shiro who’s been living here for the past weeks isn’t quite Takashi Shirogane.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that, for better or for worse, Takashi Shirogane caught the attention of many Galra higher-ups, my father amongst others. My father liked strong, capable fighters. When he encountered one in the arena, he—”

“In the arena?”

What the hell was Lotor going on about? This didn’t make any sense. Keith knew of Emperor Zarkon’s penchant for blood games such as gladiatorial combats, but he also knew Shiro had never competed in one; he had always hated that unnecessary bloodshed, calling it barbaric. He’d once been forced to attend one of those fights with the rest of the police force and he’d been horrified by what he’d seen. He hadn’t even wanted to tell Keith any of the details. He didn’t have to—the horror had been easy to see in his eyes.

Lotor speared him with a sharp look, bidding him to stop interrupting. “Yes, in the arena. As I was saying, my father liked strong fighters. One of his dreams was to build an indestructible army of mighty warriors. To accomplish this, he kept the DNA of every one of the gladiator he considered worthy. As it happens, Shirogane caught his eye. I can tell you aren’t aware of this story. It’s not mine to tell, just know that I’m not lying. Your man fought in the arena—he killed gladiators twice as experimented and thrice as big as he is. I saw him fight more than once—he truly is skilled. Anyway, as with other champions, my father had Shirogane’s DNA collected and put away for the moment when he decided to build his army. After my father’s death, once the fighting for the throne between the other contenders and I started in earnest, my mother decided she didn’t like the odds; she feared for me, you see. She didn’t quite believe my generals would be loyal to me. I can’t blame her—they are a motley band, but they are loyal. That, I know. In case they weren’t, my mother wished for me to have a bodyguard who would guard my back, and who better than one of the best gladiators? Using her Altean magic, she cloned your Shirogane. You’ve met the result.”

Keith wasn’t even aware that he was leaning heavily against the wall. Lotor’s words rang in his head like the echo of a distant bell. They didn’t make sense; no matter how he arranged them, the words were wind, wisps of smoke, insubstantial. He tried to grasp them, to no avail. What Lotor had just said was simply too enormous. Keith couldn’t even begin to comprehend the first part, the part about Shiro fighting in the emperor’s arena, much less the part about cloning. Either taking pity on him or savouring his horror, Lotor kept quiet, standing here with his arms crossed over his chest as if he hadn’t dropped one of the biggest bombs.

Keith took in a deep breath. “You are saying that… your mother cloned Shiro?”

“Yes. It’s not like you see in the movies, putting his cells in a test tube so they can grow into a body. She used her Altean alchemy. It is not dissimilar to what Princess Allura and Fala can do. I’m afraid this is all I can tell you about it.”

He didn’t care how it had been done. “Does… does that mean there are two Shiros?”

“Yes. Last I heard, the original Shirogane is still safe in upper town, none the wiser. He has no idea this happened.”

“B-But…”

But he’s the same, Keith wanted to say, except that the words died in his throat. No, that would be a lie; the two Shiros weren’t the same. As glaring as the nose in the middle of the face, he now saw dozens of tiny differences between the two, small things he had discarded or ignored. He had been so wilfully blind, Keith realised, he had absolutely no reason to be angry at anyone but himself. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he’d sensed that something was amiss. It hadn’t started with the missing meds—it had started even from their first meeting. Hadn’t he thought it odd that Shiro talked to him as if they hadn’t seen each other for a long time?

“You’re beginning to see it,” Lotor said.

He sounded sorry. When Keith mustered enough strength to look up at him, he saw that Lotor looked sorry, an emotion that clearly didn’t sit well with him.

“I should have said something when I saw how close the two of you were. I apologize. I’ll give you space so you can mull this over. I have one request, however: do not be angry at Shiro, Keith. He has no idea he is not himself. He is a good man, even if he isn’t who he thinks he is. My mother made him as perfect a copy of the original as she could. If this Shiro loves you, it is very possible that the real one actually loves you too. His acting on his feelings is an unforeseen consequence of this. We saw no harm in letting it happen. This Shiro is my mother’s puppet, she can see and hear and feel through him. That’s why he’s with me so often—I report to her through him. After the bomb, she completely took him over because she refused to believe I hadn’t been harmed. It’s the only reason why he wasn’t at your side. It’s killing him. Don’t give him further reasons to hate himself.”

The prince departed, his footsteps soundless on the snow-covered ground. Keith watched his retreating back, unable to think. It was all too much in too little time. He slid down the rough wall until he sat back on his haunches, uncaring for the cold that seeped through his pants. Of everything Keith could pinpoint about Shiro that was different, one stood out the starkest: Adam’s reaction when he heard about their relationship. He had sounded so stunned, so taken aback, and why shouldn’t he be? The real Shiro was still over there, probably talking daily to him. How had Adam known? Why hadn’t he said anything?

Betrayal felt like a white-hot blade between the ribs; Keith gasped as it punched in his chest, driving the breath from his lungs. Adam had known and he hadn’t said anything. Why whywhywhywhy? Of everybody he knew, Keith trusted Adam the most, trusted Adam to be honest with him, to tell him the truth when it mattered. He was glad the older man wasn’t in the vicinity or he’d have punched him. Bile rose in his throat, sour, acrid, making him want to throw up. He couldn’t begin to imagine why Adam hadn’t shared that piece of information with him; whenever he had lied or omitted some detail in the past, it had been out of some misguided need to protect him. Keith couldn’t understand how not mentioning the tiny fact that there were two Shiros counted as protecting him. Hadn’t Adam told him to be careful, as if the clone could be dangerous? Hadn’t he known Keith wouldn’t heed such a warning without proper explanation?

Keith bit down on his hand, digging his teeth into his skin in an attempt to restrain the flow of emotions. They all roiled inside him, threatening to overflow. He feared what he’d do if the lid was blown off by the steam building inside him. He didn’t know what to do, what to think. Shiro wasn’t Shiro. It didn’t make sense. It was impossible.

It was… painful.

Keith huddled deeper into his jacket. A sob threatened to break free from his lips and he clamped them shut furiously. Those past few weeks had been amongst the happiest of his life. Had they all been a lie? Lotor had said that the clone’s feelings reflected those of Shiro’s, but was that true? The clone was different from the original in tiny ways—he was more sentimental, his emotions were closer to the surface, he was more passionate and less awkward and somehow freer of spirit. Keith had noted all those differences without being able to understand why they were there. Should he have asked questions? Perhaps he’d been too eager to jump into bed with this… man simply because he thought he was Shiro.

The scars had been different too. The one on the nose—on the real Shiro, it climbed up closer to the right eye. The scar tissue around where the prosthetic attached to the right arm just above the elbow, it had been more minimal on the clone, more surgically precise as if the loss of the flesh and blood arm had been more deliberate than accidental. The scars all over the body, the clone didn’t have nearly as many. Only a few, small ones. Keith had attributed the difference to Shiro’s vanity; perhaps he’d had them removed because they made him feel self-conscious and were a remainder of too much suffering. What a dumb thought coming from a guy who fancied himself Shiro’s number one fan! Shiro had no vanity whatsoever; he didn’t give a damn about his appearance, so why would he bother paying to have some scars easily hidden beneath clothes removed while keeping the glaring one on his face?

Keith was as much to blame as anyone, probably more as he’d seen the signs and deliberately elected to ignore them. He rubbed his face tiredly. What should he do? Go on as if nothing had happened or speak up? Should he talk to… the clone about this? Lotor had said he didn’t know he wasn’t the real Shiro, but Keith wasn’t so sure about that; there had been self-doubt in the clone’s eyes lately, dismay when he couldn’t remember an event or a person. Keith had sensed it, hadn’t he? Whether the clone was become more self-aware or not, Keith couldn’t, in good conscience, burden him further.

In all this huge mess, this guy was the innocent one. He wasn’t Shiro, of that, Keith was certain: he was his own person. He had a personality distinct of Shiro’s, he had his own quirks and mannerism and ideas. He was just a regular bloke being used for the machinations of great men and women. Keith pitied him.

He focused on this emotion: pity. It helped cool down the raging inferno inside his chest. It put things into perspective, shifting his anger. He didn’t know what to target it at yet—it seemed nobody was quite fully guilty. Nobody had wanted to dupe him, he’d just fallen into a trap that hadn’t been designed for him. He supposed Adam or Lotor could have spoken up at some time in this mess, but Keith suddenly felt too hollowed out for rage. If anything, he was angrier on the clone’s behalf than on his own.

He remained there for a long moment, trying to put his thoughts into some sort of order. He had to decide what to do next; it seemed stupid to be worrying about a relationship while a war was happening all around him. People were dying and he was trying to find what to do about his boyfriend. It all boiled down to one question: did he love the clone for himself, or did he love him because he’d thought he was Shiro? This man wasn’t the one who’d extended to him the hand of friendship all those years ago. He wasn’t the man who’d introduced him to his boyfriend and had unknowingly offered him a new family on a silver platter. He wasn’t the man he’d gone racing with in the desert. And yet, the clone possessed all those memories, vague as they were.

Should they talk? What could they say? Did the clone even know he wasn’t quite his own person? Keith knew he sensed it, he didn’t know if he knew what it meant. There also was the troubling fact that Lotor’s mother spied on them through the clone’s eyes; what had she seen, exactly? Lotor hadn’t been quite forthcoming with details on that matter. Keith felt oddly embarrassed at the thought that there might have been an unknown third party witnessing his private moments.

He got to his feet. He wasn’t a man of thought, he was a man of action, so maybe the best thing to do right now was to act. He’d talk to the clone and see what the man knew. Then, they could go from there.

Apparently, Lotor had beaten him to the punch; when Keith found the clone, he was standing on his own, away from everybody else, face registering shock. His eyes were wide and empty, and he stood with the slack-limbed stance of someone utterly defeated. With his shoulders slumped, he suddenly looked very young and fragile.

Keith went to him, heart hammering inside his chest. The magic of Lotor’s mother had done an awesome job because he had to remind himself that this wasn’t Shiro. The physical resemblances, at first glance, were uncanny.

“Hey,” Keith said softly. “You all right?”

No answer. Keith opened his mouth to call out his name, but the word died in his mouth. Should he still call him Shiro? That wasn’t who he was, yet calling him clone seemed unthinkingly cruel.

Keith touched his flesh and blood arm. “Hey, puppy, what’s wrong?”

He jumped, his whole body quivering with surprise mixed with revulsion. Shiro took a step back, eyes firmly locked on the floor. “Please, go,” he whispered.

“No.”

“Keith, I’m not who you think I am.”

“You’re not Shiro? I know, Lotor told me everything.”

Shiro turned to look at him, surprised written in his features. “He told you? I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Keith, I swear, I didn’t want… it wasn’t my intention to trick you… I’m so sorry. I should’ve… I mean, I knew something was wrong… I—”

“Hush, don’t sweat it.” Keith reached up to put his hand over Shiro’s mouth. “It’s fine, I’m not angry at you. You’re the injured party here.”

Shiro’s dark eyes were full of woe, his face twisted in anguish. “I’m still sorry,” he said once Keith removed his hand.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. Nothing of that is your fault. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

To his surprise, Shiro’s eyes filled with tears. Keith’s panic cranked up a notch; he’d never seen the other man cry, had never seen him show so much raw vulnerability. Shiro looked close to the breaking point, like the merest brush of a breeze would turn him to dust. As gently as he could, Keith wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him into an embrace. For the longest moment, Shiro didn’t move, his body remaining stiff against his. He shook underneath his hands, his big frame wrecked by sobs. Keith felt close to tears himself. He tightened his hold, grabbing fistfuls of Shiro’s shirt, willing himself to say something comforting, willing Shiro to understand his unspoken thoughts. But how could he understand what Keith didn’t understand himself? He didn’t even know what this man’s name was, all he knew was that he didn’t deserve this pain.

Finally, when he thought the point of no return had been reached, Shiro returned the embrace. Tentatively, his own arms wrapped around Keith’s waist, loosely at first, then tightening to the point of near pain. The desperation in this simple gesture broke Keith’s heart: this felt like Shiro holding on to him for dear life, that he’d die if he let go.

“It’s going to be fine, puppy,” he whispered.

They remained there for long minutes, Keith refusing to let go until he felt the other man relax somewhat. By degree, tension left Shiro’s muscles. The face he pressed into Keith’s shoulder was covered in tears. When he pulled back, Keith gently wiped the water from his cheeks, trying to smile. The wet sheen of Shiro’s eyes made him want to cry too. This wasn’t his Shiro, yet this was someone he’d come to trust and love and appreciate, and seeing him cry twisted a knife in his heart; nobody deserved the kind of torture this man was going through.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro mumbled, standing to his full height and blinking rapidly.

“Don’t be. I… let’s talk, okay? Come with me.”

Before Shiro had time to protest, Keith grabbed him around the wrist and dragged him outside. He felt curious eyes following their retreating backs; too many people were watching and listening to their every move for them to have such an important conversation. He wanted privacy, a safe place from where they could exchange and put things into perspective. The outside was as private as it got.

Despite Lotor’s edict, they crossed the no-man’s-land into the nearest street where there were still some buildings standing. There was a patrol due in this section in about fifteen minutes, so Keith knew they were safe. At least they were alone.

The problem with talking was that it involved words, and Keith sucked with words. He never knew how to put into sentences the things going on through his mind. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say to Shiro; the face was familiar yet they stood like strangers, keeping a respectful distance.

Once again, Keith decided that actions spoke louder than words. He grabbed Shiro by the front of his jacket, pulled him down, and crashed their lips together. For the briefest second, Shiro stood stock still, eyes wide in surprise, before he kissed back. There was desperation as he pressed his lips against Keith’s, a hunger that had never been there before. Keith relished it. He tugged Shiro closer by wrapping one arm around his neck, the other going to his hair. He carded his fingers through the short black strands, marvelling at how human it felt. Shiro’s hands went to his jaw, gripping it gently. Their teeth clacked together as they panted into each other’s mouth, each trying to bring the other’s body closer. Shiro backed him up against the nearest wall then leaned back until he could press their forehead together.

“Baby, you know I’m not him. Why are you doing this?”

Keith panted as he looked up at Shiro through his fringe. His fingers tightened into the fabric of his shirt as he tried to express his feelings. “I know, I know. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you. You’re you and you’re perfect.” He paused before asking in a soft voice: “Is there something I can call you? It’s just…”

Shiro regarded him for a moment, face soft and full of love. He pressed a gentle kiss on his nose. “I don’t really have a name, but I suppose you could call me Kuro.”

“Kuro?”

“Hm. It means black and “Shiro” means white. I suppose it’s fitting.”

Keith grabbed his face, forcing him to look at him, and hissed: “I hope you don’t say that because you think you’re evil or some bullshit?”

For the first time since this shitty day began, Shi—Kuro smiled. It was like watching the sun breaking out from the clouds. “No, baby, not at all. Black and white cannot live without one another. Without Shiro, I wouldn’t be here, just like black wouldn’t be here without white.”

“You’re… you thought about that before.”

“No, not really, it just seems fitting. I suppose it’s something I might have read somewhere… before.”

“Don’t think about before, okay? Just think about right now and the future.”

“I like thinking about right now when you’re here.” Kuro leaned in until his breath whispered against Keith’s ear. “I like thinking about the present when you’re so close to me. I don’t care about the future as long as you’re near. And the past is irrelevant because stupid Shiro was too blind to see you.”

Keith shivered. “You smooth bastard. Is that Lotor who taught you to talk like that?”

Kuro smiled. “No, I don’t think so. Shiro doesn’t talk like that, doesn’t he?”

“Nope, not at all.” Keith tugged at Kuro’s belt. “And he never would have asked me to suck his dick or eat my ass or let him fuck me. I rather like that bold side of you.”

“But he thought about it, I know he did. I have his memories. He just hated himself because he thought you were a child.”

“Are you joking?”

“No, I’m not, I swear! That’s why the first time I saw you, I was so surprised; all the memories I had of you were of two years earlier. You grew up so much in that time and I was taken aback because you no longer looked like a child.” His hands went appreciatively to Keith’s hips. “Not at all.”

Keith refused to dwell on what this meant. “You know I’m no longer a kid, I’ve proven it to you many times. Want me to prove it again?”

The flash of lust in Kuro’s eyes was so out of character for Shiro that Keith wondered how he had ever mistaken the two.

He grinned when Kuro slowly sank onto his knees in front of him.


	37. Chapter 37

Keith was a little ashamed at how easily he denied everything by keeping his mind occupied with Kuro; whenever Lotor didn’t need them, they’d sneak out to one of the abandoned buildings surrounding the HQ to have sex. Three, four times a day, it hardly mattered. They’d catch each other’s eye across the room and they’d understand. Lotor—and his generals apparently—were the only ones who knew that Kuro wasn’t Shiro. Keith didn’t want to tell Lance or the others; he didn’t know whether they would understand and, to be honest, he had no idea how to explain it all. Lance would ask about his feelings, and he wouldn’t know how to answer, so he ignored it all to pour all his energy into fighting Lotor’s war and screwing with Kuro. New Year saw them at a stalemate― they didn’t encounter any of Sendak’s patrols for days. Keith, alongside other scouts, reported no enemy activity in the vicinity; it was as if Sendak was taking a break, regrouping. It would have been a good moment to strike if they’d known _where_ to strike. They stared at their map of low town for hours, trying to find where else they could look for their enemy. Lotor had pressed Keith, asking him to think about a place Sendak could be hiding, but he had no idea; there was simply nowhere strategically advantageous for the man to establish his HQ.

They were stuck.

The mounting frustration made itself felt amongst their ranks: arguments exploded left and right, people got into stupid fights over the lamest reasons. They were all getting tired of this, tired of this stalemate, and tired of being stuck in a building too small to contain them all. The civilians were growing restless; ever since the attack with the bomb, they were looked at with suspicious by the soldiers. As they no longer could approach Lotor as easily as before, Allura took it upon herself to play referee amongst them, trying to deescalate disputes before words turned to fists. Lotor had little time to hear disputes so she did it in his stead. She kept Lance by her side, trusting his judgement. Together, they looked like a king and queen of old, adjudicating disputes at their court.

Keith cared little for the political machinations happening behind the scenes, he wanted action. Lotor sent him scouting into enemy territory, mapping troop movements and reporting on what was happening with Sendak. From what he’d seen, the enemy’s strategy was looking more and more like a siege; slowly but surely, his men had been encircling Lotor’s HQ, effectively strangling him. The particle barrier kept them safe from direct attacks, but it wouldn’t protect them from starvation or strife within. Keith judged they had food for about another month if they were careful. After that, scouting parties would be turned to scavenging parties and, from what he’d seen of low town, they would starve in a couple of weeks. Every scrap of food low town had ever had had already been consummated a long time ago.

As his betters tried to find a way out of this impasse, Keith ignored his own impasse and bulldozed on as he always did. Whenever Adam called, he pretended to be too busy to talk. His texts went unanswered. He was no longer angry at the older man, he just didn’t want to hear his sanctimonious voice, didn’t want to be told he was being dumb or childish for ignoring the truth. Whenever they did talk for a couple of minutes, they studiously refrained themselves from talking about Shiro. It meant that Keith had no idea how he was faring, but asking would be admitting to Adam that he knew the guy he was with wasn’t Shiro and he wasn’t ready for that. Though he could accept it in his own heart, it was a different matter to accept it out loud. It would make it realer, somehow.

Their breakthrough came two weeks later in the middle of a bitterly cold day. Although the quintessence did a good job at supplying the HQ with raw power, the transformer Hunk and the others had built to turn it into usable electricity was having trouble; the lights overhead flickered all the time and the heat had to be sacrificed so most of the energy was transferred to the maintenance of the particle barrier. It meant the air inside oscillated between lukewarm and humid, and cold and humid. Their food was now served chilled and the water for the showers was freezing.

As a result, when Allura asked a seemingly innocent question, an appalling realisation settled on all of them.

They were, once again, grouped around the holoscreen of the map of low town, brooding. Allura stepped forward and pointed towards the river that separated the city in two, just beside the bridge:

“What is this?” She referred to a small speck of land situated in the middle of the river. “Is it a glitch in the map?”

“No, it’s an island I had made a few years ago,” Lotor explained distractedly. “A high school was built upon it in the hope of bringing together the children of upper and lower town. It—”

They all stared at each other, eyes widening.

Lotor turned excitedly to Lance and Keith: “You both attended Babelsberg Island Secondary School. Are the school premises large enough to host a small army?”

Despite himself, Keith felt a surge of excitement course through his veins. He thought back on those horrible days of high school, trying to remember the buildings rather than the events that took place over there. Large enough to host a small army, he couldn’t be sure of it, but the school grounds had been quite large.

“I think so,” Lance said, eyes glittering.

“It would be the perfect base,” Lotor mused, looking at the map with renewed interest. He slid his fingers over the island, enlarging the image. “Easily defendable, easily supplied from upper town by the bridge.”

“So we suspect this is Commander Sendak’s base?” Krolia asked.

“It is highly likely,” Keith said, nodding. “It’s the only place we haven’t been able to scout properly so far.”

“We will need to remedy that,” Lotor said, grinning fiercely at his assembled generals and hangers-on. “How did you access the island?”

“You had it built, but you don’t know what it looks like?” Lance asked dubiously.

“I funded it, nothing more. I don’t recall ever seeing the final plans, much less the final result.”

“We took Unification Bridge,” Keith explained. “A lane split off from the others to bifurcate towards the island. I thought it had been closed off.”

“Most likely it has,” Lotor mused, “but that’s not nearly enough to stop Sendak. He could easily have taken his ships there. He won’t be using them to resupply, however; it would give us his location far too easily.”

“Maybe that’s why he had the bridge closed off,” Allura suggested. “Having full access to it makes it easier for him to resupply without having to bother about civilians seeing what he is doing.”

Lotor said nothing, yellow eyes intent on the map. Keith could almost see his excitement rising in waves like heat off his body. This was their first breakthrough for more than a month, and, even though he did his best to curb his enthusiasm, Keith had to admit that everything that had just been said made a lot of sense. By taking possession of the island, Sendak effectively made himself a nearly impregnable fortress: difficult of access except by the bridge he controlled, he could easily receive supplies and fresh troops from upper town. Since he’d rapidly taken control of the neighbourhoods surrounding the bridge, none of Lotor’s patrol had been able to get close enough to even glimpse the island, much less what was going on there. It made so much sense that Keith didn’t understand why none of them had ever thought of it before.

“Tomorrow,” Lotor said distractedly, pointing at Keith, “you’ll reconnoitre the area. I want an exact replica of the lay of the land around the bridge. I want an estimate of how many men you think can comfortably fit on the island. I want to know how Sendak ferry them across the river. I want to know how he resupplies his troops.”

“We would be walking straight into enemy territory,” Krolia warned, voice tight.

“Yes, I know, which is why I’m sending the best. Keith has you, Shirogane, and Sven in his team. If the four of you cannot do this, nobody can. I will be counting on you, Krolia.”

Krolia nodded sharply and Keith didn’t know whether she was happy for the praise or not.

“We will talk again in the morning. By then, I expect you to have come up with a plan and a list of what you’ll need to accomplish your mission.” Lotor grinned fiercely once again. “This might be the breakthrough we needed, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s think this through carefully, we might not get another chance.”

No, they might not. Keith glanced around himself, at the haggard faces of the civilians, the tired cast of the shoulders of the soldiers, the dispirited cries of the young children; Sendak had to know they were slowly running out of food. If he waited long enough, time would do the dirty work for him. Once the particle barrier failed and his troops advanced, they’d find a bunch of scrawny corpses waiting for them. Keith thought of Lance, of his family, of Katarzyna, and knew they couldn’t fail. _He_ couldn’t fail them; the Álvarez family had saved him, it was his turn to save them.

-

Amongst everybody living at Lotor’s HQ, Keith was surprised to realise that only five of them had attended Babelsberg Island Secondary School: Lance, Hunk, Pidge, James, and himself. The other young adults of their age hadn’t been selected by the prestigious admission committee, so it left the five of them to discuss the school. They sat on the floor of the mess hall in an uneasy circle. Hunk had rigged an old heating appliance that they used as a campfire. It emitted some heat and provided them with a reddish glow since the overhead light fixtures had to be turn off at dusk to save the transformer.

“I don’t think Keith should go on that mission tomorrow,” James was saying, “it’s too dangerous.”

It was the third time he was stating this in the last hour. Keith sighed wearily. In his arms, Katarzyna slept on restlessly; as if sensing the tension, she’d been fussy all evening, refusing to be put down in her bassinet for the night. Keith and Lance alternated rocking her in their arms; apparently, only they were all right because she refused to settle down despite Lance’s mother’s perfect handling.

“Someone has to do it and Lotor chose me,” he said. “Who else could he send? Amongst his soldiers, I’m the only one who attended Babelsberg High and I’m the one who knows the terrain best. He’d be stupid to send someone else.”

“I still hate this,” James grumbled.

“Look, nobody wants to see Keith in danger,” Pidge cut in annoyance, “but, strategically speaking, Lotor is right: Keith is best suited to do this, so instead of arguing over something that’s already been decided, how about we try our best to make sure he actually makes it back alive?”

“Put your crush to the side, Griffin,” Lance interjected when James made to speak up again. Then, when James flushed, he said: “What, you think we didn’t notice? Please.”

“Everybody’s got a little crush on Keith, so why not admit it and move on?” Pidge added.

“I-I don’t!” James protested weakly.

“Nobody’s got a crush on me,” Keith retorted with a roll of his eyes. He pointed at Lance: “He’s got a crush on Allura.” He pointed at Pidge. “She’s got a crush on Fala.” He pointed at Hunk. “He’s got a crush on Shay.” He pointed at James. “You’ve got a crush on… on yourself, probably.” He pointed at himself: “And I’m in a relationship with my crush, so you all shut up. Can we move on now?”

“I’m in a relationship with my crush too!” Pidge exclaimed proudly.

Lance proclaimed that he would soon be in a relationship with Allura, James snorted in disbelief, and Hunk kept quiet, which surprised Keith: Hunk usually liked their banter. He never hesitated to join in, if somewhat timidly. Now that he thought about it, he thought that Hunk had been uncharacteristically glum as of late.

While the others bickered, Keith, careful not to jostle Katarzyna, moved closer to Hunk. “You all right?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, yes. Just worried.”

“About tomorrow’s mission?”

“Yeah, amongst other things.” Hunk bit his lip. “I’m also worried about Shay; I haven’t seen her in months and I can’t stop thinking about her. I mean, I’m sure she’s all right. She decided to go with her people after they were liberated from the mines, but I was sure she’d keep in touch. So far, nothing. What if something happened to her and her family? What if— _Keith_? Keith, buddy, you’re not even listening to me.”

“The mines!” Keith exclaimed, eyes going wide. “The mines! Hunk, you’re a genius!”

“Am I?” Hunk chuckled nervously. “I-I mean, yes, I am, I think?”

They were all looking at Keith now. He said: “We’ve been wondering how to approach the island undetected, what with Sendak’s patrol roaming the whole place. How about we use the mines?”

“Uh, didn’t they all collapse?” Lance asked, puzzled.

“Actually,” Pidge said, pushing her glasses up her nose, “it’s only a part of the mines that collapsed; Fala told me that there were underground tunnels that run far deeper than the mines we’ve visited. Keith might be on to something.”

“What mines?” James asked, puzzled. “Those we saw on the news? The ones where the Alteans were kept?”

“Yes, those mines,” Keith said with a nod. “We should ask Allura whether she could draw us a map of the place.” He turned to Hunk. “Shay and her people could help us—they dug in those tunnels, didn’t they? Perhaps they could, I don’t know, clear the rubbles or the collapsed shafts.”

“That’s all great in theory, but as I said, I don’t know where Shay or any of the Balmerans are,” Hunk reminded him.

“Allura could surely find them,” Lance said, thinking out loud. “Using the quintessence, you know? I don’t know how she does her hocus pocus alchemy, but she surely has a way to locate the Balmerans.”

Keith thought furiously as they kept debating the whole thing― if his plan worked, they could navigate the length of the city almost without danger. They could get close to Sendak’s position without risk of detection. Hell, the possibilities were endless now that he thought about it. How had Lotor ignored this?

It didn’t matter—the plan was worth nothing if they couldn’t get the Balmerans’ help. Lance hurried to fetch Allura and, when he came back, he was dragging her by the hand in his haste. He didn’t seem to notice their intertwined fingers, too excited was he to relay their plan. Allura listened in amusement at first (she always had a fond look on her face whenever Lance got excited about something), then with more seriousness.

They all sat together in silence afterward while Allura thought on what could be done.

Just like everybody else, the princess had lost weight over the past few months. She’d always been lithe, but now she was bordering on scrawny; her brown skin was stretched thin over her bones, making the Altean marks on her cheeks stand out sharply. The emaciated look gave her a tragically romantic appearance, as if she were the heroine out of some movie. Keith noted with amusement the look of utter adoration Lance sported as he gazed at her. Neither of them seemed to have realised they were still casually holding hands.

“I believe I could locate Shay,” Allura said slowly after a moment of reflection. “I think I know just the right spell for it. However, it would be easier if we had something of hers, or of any of the Balmerans.”

“Oh! I might have just the thing!” Hunk exclaimed to their surprise. He rummaged through his pockets and took out a small, ordinary-looking rock that he held out towards the reddish glow of the makeshift campfire. “She gave it to me. She said it comes from her home planet, Balmera.”

“Hunk! You big sap! You never told me this!” Lance said with a laugh.

Hunk blushed. “I-It’s supposed to be between Shay and me, that’s all!”

Allura smiled at him. “Hunk, this is perfect. Might I use it to locate Shay?”

As Allura took the rock from Hunk’s reluctant hand, James leaned towards Keith and asked in a whisper: “Who the hell is Shay? You’ve all been talking about her.”

“She’s a Balmeran. She was in the mines with Allura. The Balmerans are an alien species that live underground. They can… dig tunnels pretty good. I’m not quite sure how it works, but whatever, the point is that, with her help, we could navigate the mines far more easily.”

James groaned. “This is way too complicated for me. Damn it but do I miss the simple life of being a university student.”

Keith raised an eyebrow at him. “No, you don’t. I’ve seen you going around, James. You like that, you like rubbing shoulders with the ordinary people.”

“I do _not_.”

“No? What was it that you were saying to that woman about her marriage contract? And to that bloke who got his restaurant shut down? And to that family whose house was seized? Hm? Oh, right, seems to me you were enjoying being the hot, knowledgeable lawyer of the small folk.”

James opened his mouth to reply. Closed it with a snap. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, which made Keith grinned at him.

Hunk finally agreed to hand the rock over to Allura. She took it and curled her fingers tightly around it. Closing her eyes to concentrate on whatever magic she had to conjure, the air began shimmering blue all around her body.

Soon, the whole of the mess hall was as brightly lit as in daylight and Keith felt something inside him being tugged by that magic. He had no way of describing the sensation; warmth suffused him, the dregs of Allura’s alchemy touching him the same way they had in that courtyard. Cold and tiredness and pain were washed away as if they had never existed, leaving him fully awake and aware for the first time in days.

They all watched her as she sat there with her hands carefully folded on her lap. Sweat beaded on her luminescent skin. She appeared to be lit by a blue halo, her white hair turned incandescent cyan. She remained like this for a seemingly very long time. Her muscles bunched beneath her clothes. Then, finally, the bright light dimmed up until the room appeared to be plunged in darkness. Panting, she would have collapsed had Lance not caught her by the shoulder.

“Allura! Are you okay?!” he asked, voice tight with worry.

She nodded and took a moment to regain her composure, leaning against Lance, before sitting up right. “Very well, I’ve located Shay,” she said. “She sensed my call. I am quite certain she’ll be here by morning with her folk.”

“Allura, that’s amazing,” Pidge breathed, eyes wide with wonder. “Is there something your alchemy can’t do?”

She smiled weakly. “I’m afraid there is a lot it cannot do, Pidge.” She handed the rock back to Hunk. “Thank you very much for your help, Hunk.”

Hunk looked stunned as he took back his memento. “N-No, don’t thank me…! Thank _you_! I’ll finally see Shay again!”

“I hope you’ll take this chance to confess to her,” Lance teased with a grin.

Hunk flushed. “I-I… oh, dear, should I confess to her? I don’t know if I’m worthy of her. I mean, she’s a Balmeran! She’s so cool and strong and awesome and gentle—”

“So are you,” Allura said gently, patting his arm. “Shay would be a lucky girl to have a man like you, Hunk, believe me.”

For some reason, this reassurance only seemed to worry him even more. Keith listened with some amusement as the poor guy fretted over the silliest detail. It reminded him of the times back before this madness began, back when they were all just chilling in his living room playing video games and worrying about moving drugs.

While Lance and Allura bantered with a flustered Hunk, Keith, James, and Pidge tried to draw a plan of the school island so they’d have an idea of the disposition of Sendak’s troops.

His memories of the place were mostly bad― he’d been bullied for most of his school years and, as a result, he had never lingered after the day was over. Back then, if someone had told him he’d be sitting calmly next to one of his biggest bullies, he’d never have believed them. James seemed to be thinking alongside those lines because he kept sending him worried glances. Pidge did most of the work; even back then, she’d been so curious that she’d spend her days roaming around the school. Keith barely listened to her as she talked with James, focusing his attention on Katarzyna’s dead weight in his arms; although tiny, she seemed to weigh a ton as she slept on, ignoring the world around in her contentment of being held. He didn’t dare handing her to Lance in case she woke up.

After another half hour, they had a more or less accurate plan of the island and the school. Hunk and Lance looked it over before saying they were satisfied with it and Keith judged it would be enough for Lotor.

They drifted off back to their own cot after this and Keith would have happily rejoined Kuro if James hadn’t stopped him with a hand on his elbow.

“Keith, erm, I think we should talk.” When Keith looked at him expectantly, he added quickly: “About what happened when we were kids.”

“Oh. We’ve already talked about that. There’s nothing more to say. It’s in the past.”

“I still feel like an ass about it. I’m really sorry for having bullied you.”

Keith looked at him steadily, trying to decipher what he felt about this apology. To be honest, once he’d been kicked out of school, he’d never really thought back on those horrible days, he’d simply been glad to be out of there, even if it meant plunging into a different kind of hell. James had been his worst bully back then, a mean little shit that seemed to have made it his life’s worth to make Keith’s days horrible. Keith had disliked him in a distant, passionless way; he hadn’t given a damn about him or about anyone else at school. James had simply been another asshole to deal with, not so different from the others he had encountered so far. After been kicked out, he’d barely spared a thought for James or anyone else back there.

Still, he could tell James hadn’t been able to break cleanly from those days and that this apology mattered greatly to him.

“It’s fine,” Keith assured. “I’ve gotten over this a long time ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“James, I promise you, being thrown in a garbage can really isn’t the worst that happened to me, you know that. You were nothing more than an annoyance to me at the time. I forgot all about it when I got kicked out.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have been expelled if I hadn’t bullied you.”

This surprised Keith. He scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself, I would’ve been kicked out nonetheless. A lot of shit was going on with my life. I’m not sure you or any bully even weighed in the staff’s decision.”

“Oh. Uh, well, that’s good I guess.”

“Yeah. You know, I much prefer you when you’re nice, James.”

“I’m not nice!”

“You’re not as much of an ass as you pretend to be, then. Just keep going the way you’ve been lately, maybe then I’ll even start considering you a friend.”

This took James aback. “What? It’s not like you. Shirogane has softened you.”

“This has nothing to do with Shiro. I just don’t see the point of being angry with you over what happened like ten years ago.”

“I wasn’t very nice to you recently either.”

Keith shrugged. “You roughened me up when we slept together, so what?”

“Keith, you don’t treat the people you love like that.”

“No, you don’t. Look, I don’t know what you expect of me. Do you want me to punch you to make you feel better? No? Well, let’s just start over then.”

James said nothing, regarding him with an uncharacteristic uncertainty that made him look terribly young. With a sigh, Keith tucked Katarzyna into the crook of one elbow and wrapped his free arm around James’ neck, pulling him into an awkward hug. James tensed against him before relaxing and returning the embrace.

“Shirogane is so damn lucky to have you,” James mumbled as he stepped back. “I hope he realises that.”

Keith itched to tell him that it wasn’t Shiro who had him but Kuro. Instead, he offered a small smile. “I think he does. Well, good night, James.”

“Night.”


	38. Chapter 38

As expected, Lotor accepted Keith’s plan without even questioning it. For most of the morning, they anxiously waited for Shay’s arrival—without her, it was doubtful they could set anything into motion. More than once, Allura assured them that their message had been relayed; she was fairly certain that Shay would be here, and that seemed enough to convince Lotor.

Keith fretted, and it annoyed him that he fretted over this more than the prince who was supposed to be their leader. Whenever he was asked about things like food supply, Lotor always shrugged and said he’d find a way to provide. The thing was that he _always_ did provide indeed, but showing a little worry would have eased Keith’s own mind. He looked at the hungry, scrawny people who milled about the HQ and thought of his own grumbling belly and despaired that they’d ever get out of here. They had to do something soon before they were all too weakened by hunger to fight.

Allura truly was a miracle worker for, not long before noon, Shay and a few fellow Balmerans were admitted inside the HQ. Hunk was the first one to notice their presence—he rushed to Shay, jumping into her arms and hugging her while laughing. Shay, reserved as usual, giggled timidly, but her odd-coloured skin tinted somewhat around her cheeks in what had to be a blush. Lotor welcomed the newcomers warmly. Though he hid it very well, Keith thought he detected a hint of relief in his voice. He couldn’t quite blame the prince—he, too, had started doubting that the Balmerans would show up. As if she’d known this, Allura offered him a knowing, amused smile.

Lotor shooed them all away except for Keith’s team and Shay’s Balmerans. In a few, quick sentences, he explained the plan. Keith listened distractedly, already knowing what was expected of them. Kuro stood beside him within reach, as always. As if sensing his gaze, he looked down at him, smiled, and linked their fingers. Krolia was too busy listening to Lotor, but Sven was gazing at them, an odd expression in his eyes. He’d been quite withdrawn lately, keeping to himself most of the time when he wasn’t needed. Keith didn’t know why—whenever he tried to talk to him, he’d just stand there awkwardly before excusing himself. He didn’t seem interested in small talk or even training with them.

When Lotor finished his speech, they all turned to look at Shay. She seemed to be the unofficial leader of the Balmerans gathered here, so it was to her they looked up to. Her inhuman features were difficult to read, but her eyes glowed with interest and she had listened intently to the prince. When she announced she understood what she had to do and that it _was_ possible, they all breathed a sigh of relief.

This time, Lotor had no trouble showing his own relief and he offered a thankful smile at Shay: “Thank you for your help, Shay. Quite frankly, I’m not certain what we would have done without you.”

Judging by the shocked expression on Krolia’s face, it was unusual for the prince to admit such a thing. It did serve its purpose—Shay glowed almost literally at the praise. Just like the Alteans, the Balmerans had been looking for a new goal in life after their liberation from the mines. Helping win a war against an enemy that considered them nothing more than mud beneath its boot gave them a sense of purpose or, if not that, at least something to do.

“We are glad to help,” Shay demurred.

“How long do you think it will take for us to reach the shore?” Krolia asked.

Shay looked at Lotor’s map. “Three hours, I’d venture to say. I believe most of the tunnels we wish to navigate will be in good shape.”

“I thought most of the mines had collapsed,” Keith said.

Shay turned her glowing yellow eyes towards him. “Oh, but I am not talking about the mines. There are tunnels deeper than those, where you humans used to dwell.”

“What do you mean?” Kuro asked in surprise.

“She refers to the ruins of Metropolis,” Sven supplied. “I’d heard some of them had survived the years.”

Shay nodded. “Yes. Down there are rails and some vehicles not unlike the one that travels in the sky.”

It took some further explanation until they realised she meant the skymetro. According to Sven, who seemed the most knowledgeable about the old world, humans had dug deep tunnels underground to allow the passage of a _metro_. It worked on the same principle as the skymetro they all knew, except that it was underground. Keith didn’t see the point of it; wouldn’t it have been much easier to build in the sky? It seems like they hadn’t had the technology to do so back then.

The why or how hardly mattered—they could use those old tunnels to navigate more or less easily under the city. Shay’s role in this was to make sure they didn’t get lost and that any obstacle was removed.

By the time they’d geared up, most of the short winter afternoon had gone by. They planned to be away for at least twelve hours, so they had to pack some food and water. Keith was looking forward to this mission, he realised as he slung his bag over his shoulder; this seemed like the first real progress they were making in weeks. After today, they might have Sendak’s precise location as well as an accurate headcount of his forces. Once they had this, Keith supposed Lotor would want to launch an attack on the enemy command centre.

Once all ready, his team, followed by the Balmerans and Lotor, left the HQ for one of the empty buildings nearby; Shay had explained that they would need to open a hole in the ground for them to reach the tunnels and, understandably, Lotor didn’t want this to happen in the middle of his command centre.

A team of four fighters alongside five large Balmerans and a prince made the abandoned house they chose feel way too small. Just like everywhere else in low town, the house had a decrepit, forlorn look about it, and everything inside that could be looted had been taken away, leaving behind old furniture and everything too heavy to be easily carried. It had been cleared of food—Keith knew, he’d checked.

In what used to be the living room, Shay and the four other Balmerans knelt on the floor with their four-fingered hands pressed to the old carpet. A yellow light glowed in a more or less circular form as the ground began to vibrate beneath their feet. Keith was uncomfortably reminded of the earthquake he’d lived through after his fight in the Fightdome. At least the shaking seemed to be more controlled this time. In a matter of seconds, a hole opened slowly in the floor in front of their disbelieving eyes. The ground just seemed to… move aside rather than cave in; it was as if the Balmerans were opening a door that had always been there.

When they got to their feet, a hole of perhaps six feet in diameter stood neatly in the middle of the living room. It plunged into deep darkness, seemingly bottomless. Keith feared they’d have to climb down until he saw there were actual stairs carved into the smooth side of the circle.

“Amazing,” Lotor breathed. “So this is what you were doing for my father.”

Shay nodded grimly. “Yes.”

“How deep does this go?” Krolia asked, leaning over the side to peer into the darkness.

“I cannot quite say. Deep enough to reach the tunnel we talked about.”

“Very well. I believe it’s your time to shine once again, Keith,” Lotor said. “Did you bring the pistol with you?”

“Yes, we’re all set,” Keith assured with a nod. “We should be back in half a day.”

“Don’t rush, and don’t put yourself in unnecessary danger. I’d like to have all of you back.”

“We won’t fail, sir,” Krolia assured in a clipped tone.

Lotor laughed. “I know you won’t, Krolia, you never do.” He grinned. “It’s a trait that runs in your family.”

Krolia looked taken aback. Keith frowned, looking between the two of them, wondering if it meant they were of the same blood. He didn’t think so—they looked nothing alike.

“Let’s go,” he said. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll be back.”

They all nodded in unison. Shay opened the march. She fearlessly stepped onto the first step of the stairs carved into the smooth wall of the hole. It took her weight easily. The hole actually felt like a circular staircase that spiralled upon itself as it went deeper and deeper into the earth. Keith followed immediately behind her. The Balmerans had perfect vision in the dark and they’d asked that no torch be used so as not to spoil it.

In a matter of minutes, they were plunged in utter darkness. If he looked up, Keith saw a tiny pinprick of light that grew tinier with every new step he took. He kept one hand on the wall to his right, the only way he kept his bearings. The damp darkness closed around him like a smothering blanket. The odour of wet earth clogged his nose and coated the back of his tongue. He kept swallowing; he had to focus on the feeling of the packed, smooth earth beneath his fingers. He knew Kuro was a few steps behind him and had to resist the urge to reach back for him.

They went down further and further for quite a long time. Keith stopped counting the stairs and tried not to think that they’d have to climb them up again to reach the surface. Shay hummed as she walked, a pleasant, low sound that soothed his ruffled nerves. It made it easier to follow her; since he couldn’t see, his ears picked up the slack and he heard much better. If he concentrated, he could hear the others breathing.

Finally, Shay’s soft voice warned them that they had reached the bottom. Keith—and all the others in his team, actually—all stumbled on the last step. One Balmeran chuckled at their clumsiness. They stood there on firmer, even ground for a moment, gathering their bearings. Kuro’s hand went to rest on Keith’s shoulder, and he was glad that he wasn’t the only one unsettled by the complete darkness.

“You may use some light here,” Shay said.

They’d brought torches with them that Hunk had made a while ago on the same principle as the transformer; they used quintessence rather than batteries, meaning they had a much longer life. Allura had estimated that they’d work for six months nonstop.

Keith allowed the use of only one of them and Krolia lit her own. The bright, white light blinded them all. Keith groaned as he raised his hand to his eyes, shielding them. It took long seconds before he could blink away the tears of pain; the broad beam seemed to glow like the sun in the gloom. Krolia kept it firmly aimed towards the ground.

Once their eyes had adjusted, Krolia opened the march down the short tunnel. There was a narrow opening at the end, apparently also made by the Balmerans. As the others went through first, Keith marvelled anew at the Balmerans’ power; they could _move_ the earth, they could fashion it to their needs― it was so useful. Once again, it reminded him of how little humans could actually do compared to the aliens that peopled the universe.

He passed through the opening last and, when he was through, he bumped into Sven’s back. They were all standing there, rooted to the ground, staring at something. Keith, being the shortest of them all, couldn’t of course see what they were looking at. He slipped through them and froze at what Krolia’s torch illuminated.

They were in another tunnel, this one clearly manmade: the walls were made of layers of old bricks with crumbling mortar and the floor was made of pitted cement. It dropped away in the middle for about four feet and, in the middle of that channel, were tracks. They were standing on a platform in what had to be a metro station. Keith was struck by how similar this ancient place was to the skymetro stations he’d seen: there were low benches on one side, a few garbage cans, and what he suspected used to be publicity boards.

“This is weird,” Kuro mumbled for all of them.

“Which way do we go?” Krolia asked.

She beamed the torch right and left, the tunnel continuing on both sides; the metro presumably arrived on one side and left on the other.

“Left,” Shay said confidently.

They went after her on the tracks and then down the echoing old tunnel. Water dripped from somewhere. Keith tried not to think about the tons of earth pressing down on his head, held back only by ancient bricks. Shay assured them that the construct was still sound, and even though he believed her, he couldn’t help walking with his shoulders hunched against a potential crumble.

They followed a long, glittering ribbon of metal tracks that were rusted everywhere, corroded by centuries of damp and disuse. The air still smelled of wet earth. It was humid down there, so much that Keith felt strands of his hair curl against his cheeks. He wore the bodysuit Lotor had gifted him, but it seemed to do little to protect him against the chill. He realised he hadn’t been comfortable for weeks now; inside the HQ, it was always too hot and damp while the temperature outside remained below freezing. Keith would have never thought it possible that he’d miss his flat like hell; he missed its lukewarm water and moderately clean bathroom and its _privacy_. If he never saw another human being or another fellow Galran half-breed for the rest of his life, he’d be a happy man.

When Shay announced they were halfway to their destination, he called a halt. They weren’t that tired, but he wanted them all to be well-rested when they reached their goal. They crouched on the ground, their back against the wet bricks of the tunnel. The Balmerans talked together in low voices. Just like Shay, their tones were smooth and lyrical—when they conversed like that, it sounded as if they were singing. As always, Keith remained close to Kuro and they shared a few sips from a canteen of cool water.

“Did you ever suspect there were places like these beneath the city?” Kuro asked.

He didn’t know about the mines, Keith knew; he’d been made when Shiro had been captured by the Galra, nearly three years ago from now. Keith tried not to think about what this meant, about Shiro being captured by the Galras and made to fight in Zarkon’s arena.

“No.”

Krolia, listening to their conversation, asked: “Isn’t history taught to young ones?”

Keith shrugged. “More or less. We weren’t taught everything, or at least, I wasn’t. Perhaps in more advanced classes. Sven’s far more educated than me, ask him.”

Sven said: “We don’t know that much because a lot was lost during the apocalypse. What we know was mostly intuited. Do the Galras know more, Krolia?”

She shook her head. “No. The Galras care very little for the planets they conquer; Emperor Zarkon shot and asked questions later. Usually, when all the conquering is done, there isn’t much left of the civilisations that were there before.”

“That’s what happened to the Balmera,” Shay added quietly. “My ancestors were captured by the Galras and taken to the four corners of the universe. What little we know of our roots has been passed down through the generations.”

“The same thing is about to happen to the humans,” Sven said. “Commander Sendak wants to use us to harvest our quintessence. Once Earth is dry and its core unstable, he’ll leave us to our fate.”

Keith hadn’t thought he’d talk about this weird prophesy of his again. Against all odds, Krolia confirmed it by saying: “Yes. It’s one of the reasons why Prince Lotor wishes to take the throne; Commander Sendak is like Emperor Zarkon, he doesn’t care about the planets he conquers. He takes and he takes without ever giving back.”

“And Lotor is better?” Keith asked, challenging her.

“Yes,” she said with firm conviction. “I’ve been with him for a very long time now. Lotor isn’t like his father, he respects the people he colonizes. He learns from their culture. He trades with them. He employs them and pays them for their labour. He is _fair_. You cannot say he hasn’t been fair so far, Keith.” When he couldn’t deny it, she continued: “If Emperor Zarkon hadn’t been killed, Lotor had plans to usurp the throne.”

Stunned silence fell. Keith had somehow expected that, yet hearing it was something else. Even Sven, who seemed to know everything, looked mildly surprised by this.

“He was tired of the needless bloodshed,” Krolia said softly. “He had created a faction amongst the Galras called the Blade of Marmora. We were a rebel part of the empire ready to act on his nod. We would have overtaken commandment for him.” She looked at Keith as she said: “We were to identify each other with a luxite blade carried on our person at all time.”

For a second, Keith didn’t understand what she meant. Then, he felt a heat pressing at the small of back, where he kept his knife sheathed. Out of habit, he took it out. In the wan light coming from their single torch, the blade shimmered with a purplish glow. Before their eyes, the weapon started changing, started to morph: it grew longer, its blade elongating up until it reached the length of a short sword. Keith watched, flabbergasted, feeling the weight change in his hand, and nearly dropped it from his nerveless fingers.

“What does this mean?” Shay asked in an impressed whisper.

“Luxite is a rare metal crafted with Altean alchemy. Prince Lotor made a blade for each of his trustworthy fighters,” Krolia explained. “The luxite reacts to the blood of its owner.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Kuro said, puzzled. “Keith isn’t a member of the Blade of Marmora.”

Keith barely heard them, too engrossed in his observation of his new sword. He got to his feet and tested its weight—it rested in his palm comfortably, perfectly balanced. The sword would be small for an ordinary-sized Galra, but it was a good match for him.

“My mother,” he said numbly. “The knife comes from my mother. She must have been a member.”

“You aren’t the only one in this position. Look!” Shay exclaimed, pointing at Sven.

They all turned towards the man. Keith had seen he carried a knife, one of many concealed weapons, with its hilt wrapped in leather bindings. Violet light bled through the wraps now, the same way it had from Keith’s knife. Sven looked appalled at this.

“It’s not the same!” he exclaimed, sounding almost angry. “Shouldn’t we go? We have a mission to do.”

When his gaze crossed Keith’s, he immediately calmed down, looking chastised although nobody had said anything.

“Yes, we should go,” Keith agreed.

He looked down at the sword-length piece of steel in his hand— of course, it no longer fitted into the sheath. It had grown to be longer, so why couldn’t it grow back to its original size? He tightened his fingers around the hilt, willing the knife to shorten. When nothing happened, he felt foolish—what did he think this was, a magic sword? But then it did shorten, returning to its original dagger size, and he felt even more foolish for some reason. He caught Krolia’s knowing eye as he sheathed back his weapon. She didn’t offer any explanation, and so they continued down the tunnel.

They passed two more stations, one of them much bigger than the previous ones. Many tunnels converged here and they got their first real look of an old-fashioned metro. Like the rails upon which they rested, the wagons had long ago turned to rust. The sliding doors could no longer be opened and the large rectangular glasses were dirty, making it nearly impossible to catch a look inside one of the wagons. In shape, it vaguely resembled the skymetro Keith knew, simply more archaic.

As soon as the inspection of the old metro was over, they went on their way.

Twice, the Balmerans had to step in to clear debris that had fallen upon the rails, hindering their progress. Just as before, they pressed their hands to the stones and they somehow parted for them, like curtains being pulled aside. It never stopped impressing Keith.

Judging their progress and location was difficult; he couldn’t tell if the tunnels they walked in followed the natural lay of the land the way the streets above did. There were names painted on the bricks inside the tunnels and on the walls of the stations, but they meant nothing to him. Since they were so deep underground, using any locator was impossible. They had to trust the Balmerans who barely knew low town. Furthermore, they couldn’t _see_ what was above ground, merely feel it. Once in a while, they’d stop and explain what they were feeling, what kind of buildings were above them, the type of street, the sparse vegetation, and Keith had to guess on that. They kept getting closer to a large body of water so he supposed they were headed the right way.

They finally reached the last metro station. The tunnel didn’t go further. When Shay pressed her hand to the farthest wall, she said that there was a lot of water on the other side. They had reached the end of the line, the station nearest what used to be a canyon rather than the river cleaving the city in two. By her description of the lay of the land above, Keith guessed they were a few miles from the bridge. It was impossible for him to know whether they were close to the island or not without actually seeing where they were.

Shay spent a long moment with her hand resting on a wall, feeling what could be felt; Keith didn’t want to risk the Balmerans opening a path towards the surface only for it to open into a cluster of enemy Galras. It would be better if the path lead to a secluded or closed off place, somewhere out of sight where they could gather their bearings.

“If we do open this path,” Shay said after Keith explained his plan, “it is doubtful we will be able to open another one. Our magic consumes a lot of our energy.”

Keith remembered Allura telling him that, back in the mines, the Alteans would supply the Balmerans with quintessence so they could work longer. “It’s fine,” he assured. “Open the path and we’ll deal with the rest. We’re near the waterfront, it should be all right.”

Just as they had before, the Balmerans gathered together near one of the walls. It parted, the earth moving aside smoothly with barely a whisper of a sound. Watching them, Keith could tell they were getting tired; it took longer than it had the first time and one of the Balmerans was shaking by the time they were done. They panted, trying to catch their breath. He hoped they wouldn’t have to make a hasty retreat or they might not make it.

“The path is opened,” Shay confirmed in a tired voice. “It leads to an empty building that felt deserted. We cannot sense the life-force of any Galra nearby so you should be safe during the ascension.”

“Thank you, Shay,” Keith said, smiling at her, then at the others. “You’ve been of tremendous help. You rest now, you deserve it.”

The Balmerans nodded before sitting down, apparently glad for the respite. Keith turned towards the rest of his team—now was their turn.

“Remember, it’s only a scouting mission. As such, I don’t want anyone of you playing the hero. We see what can be seen, we take pictures, and we go back to the HQ. Questions?”

He always felt like an impostor when he had to play the leader; at any given second, he was certain either Sven or Krolia would challenge his authority, demanding to know why he was the one in charge. It would very well be their right—he was certain they could lead far better than he ever could, and the fact that Lotor had put him in charge was more than a flimsy reason. Still, despite the weird circumstances, he yearned to prove that he could be a leader while also wondering why it mattered so much; not so long ago, he hadn’t wanted to be part of this, after all.

They all shook their head in negation. No question. So, time to go.

Since he was in command, Keith took the lead, beginning the long ascension towards the surface. As with the previous opening made by the Balmerans, this one also had stairs to facilitate their ascent. He craned his neck towards the surface, trying to gauge the distance―it seemed like many, many stairs to climb. He counted them for quite some time: after one hundred, his legs began to burn. After two hundred, he was breathing hard. The stairs were steep, more suited to the long legs of a Balmeran than to those of a human. His sole consolation was that, behind him, the three others were breathing hard too.

They advanced in pitch darkness, having elected not to take any torch up the stairs. Keith pondered if he’d ever get used to this claustrophobic feeling of pressing darkness―in order to occupy his mind, he instead focused on the burning in his leg muscles and on the panting of his teammates.

By the time they reached the surface, his breath was short enough he couldn’t talk. He paused a few feet from the opening, wheezing hard. The cool air of the outside coupled with the natural grey light made him feel at least better. He wiped the sweat from his face as he cocked an ear for any out-of-place sound. Behind him, he noticed the three others were doing the same. He glanced at them, and Kuro sent him a rueful grin, trying to catch his breath at the same time.

The Balmerans had done an excellent job—the vertical tunnel opened into an empty alley between two large trashcans. Tall tenements that stretched towards the ashen sky stood on both sides of the pathway. As soon as Keith pulled himself out of the hole into the fresh air of the cold day, relief washed over him. They all stood there for a few seconds to get their bearings. Even though Keith didn’t know the waterfront of low town as well as he knew the rest of the place, he was quite certain they were near the head of the bridge. As such, the school island would be directly to their right.

Before officially starting their mission, they scouted their surroundings. As they had expected, the nearest cluster of Galras was on the next street―there were ten of them, not quite hidden, but certainly not in plain view. They were alert and armed with batons, obviously good soldiers used to waiting.

Keith pulled out a crude map he’d drawn of the area. With a pen, he quickly marked the locations where they’d spotted Galra troops; Sendak had apparently stationed his people at every crossroad of every street that leads to the waterfront. So far, Lotor’s own scouts hadn’t been able to get close enough to get a good look at the enemy’s troop disposition; if they had, they’d have immediately guessed where the enemy hid.

“We have the right place,” Keith concluded. He then looked at Sven. “Will they be able to use blasters on the island?”

Sven nodded grimly. “Yes.”

“All right, that means we need to stay out of sight.” Keith thought for a moment. “Krolia, Shiro, I need you to guard the tunnel. Sven and I will reconnoitre the perimeter further.”

“Very well. How long before we go back?” Krolia asked.

“Give us thirty minutes. If we’re not back by then, leave.” Keith hardened his voice. “If something happens to us, don’t come for us, understood?”

Despite the fact that both Krolia and Kuro were good at following orders, Keith saw that they didn’t like this one at all, for it took them some long seconds before they nodded their understanding. He secretly wished he’d chosen to go with Kuro instead, but he wasn’t sure their feelings for each other wouldn’t come in the way―they were deep within enemy territory, they had to be smart if they wanted to make it out alive.

Krolia set her timer to thirty minutes minus one, and Keith and Sven left them behind.

They walked the length of the alley in silence, keeping their ear cocked for the sound of footsteps. The neighbourhood nearing the waterfront was one of the most prosperous of low town and, as a result, the tenement buildings were made sturdy and tall. After their occupants had vacated the premises, windows and doors had been shuttered shut by thick planks of wood. Getting through them would be time-consuming as well as noisy, therefore Keith had to find another way for them to get a look at the island.

This row of tenements was the last obstacle before they reached the water. If he recalled justly, there was one last paved lane, then tall stone blocks that cut off the direct access to water. At this time of year, there would be ice on some sections of the river, especially the ones closest to the shore. Keith remembered one particularly cold winter when he’d been twelve—the river had seemingly frozen over and a group of students had decided to try crossing by walking on the ice. Unfortunately for them, the moving currents had prevented the ice from thickening enough to support their weight, so they’d plunged into the icy water. One of them had even nearly died of hypothermia.

Both ends of the alleyway had been walled off, turning it in a dead-end. The wall of smooth material had to be ten foot tall, making it impossible to scale. Keith looked at it with mounting annoyance; this stupid alley was turning impossible to escape and they also had to remain careful not to make any noise in order not to alert any nearby patrols. They couldn’t just to back to the Balmerans either and ask them for another path, they were clearly too tired for that. As such, Keith would have to work with what they had.

He didn’t want to rush this, choosing to pause for a minute to think. He looked around himself; the tenements were about five stories tall and, although their roof was flat, there was nothing they could use to reach it. All fire exits had obviously been demolished to avoid just that eventuality. They also couldn’t break through the planks of wood that shuttered the windows and doors without making too much noise. Damn it! Their goal was just one street over and it might as well have been on the moon!

Keith kicked a pebble in irritation. It bounced off a wall before falling back to the ground and disappearing into a depression there. He followed its progress in annoyance until his eyes alighted on something that reflected a bit of the watery sunlight―there were tufts of old, sickly-looking tall grass growing in the cracks in the asphalt near the base of the tenement. He went to his knees and pushed aside the blades of grass through which the pebble had disappeared. There, he noticed, nearly level with the street, was a window that hadn’t been boarded up.

Sven knelt beside him to get a better look as well. “We are lucky,” he said, sounding honestly amazed. “Look at the cracks on the pavement; the ground shifted enough during the last earthquake to unearth this. It probably leads into an illegal cellar.”

Keith thought back on the time Lance had commented that only poor people were denied the use of cellars, and it seems like the guy hadn’t been wrong since the rich blokes of the waterfront had been able to hide their illegal ones. In the end, it was only sheer bad luck that this one had been exposed.

He shoved his arm through the hole, trying to gauge how big it was. Three foot across, he’d say, more than enough room for him to wriggle through. He lied flat on the ground and shone the flashlight around. Sven had been right—this appeared to be a sort of low cellar.

Wriggling through posed no problem. Loose earth shifted beneath him, reminding him once again that there were tons of building materials hanging above his head. Once this was over, he swore he’d never get underground ever again; he was getting damn tired of this entombment feeling.

The roof of the cellar was low, forcing him to crouch uncomfortably. Just like Uncle Pedro’s own cache, there were many shelves filled with boxes of all kinds. Keith couldn’t begin to imagine the goods hidden inside, probably illegal stuff that would get the owner of the place arrested.

The opening was a bit too narrow for Sven who had a hard time rejoining him. Keith tried not to laugh at the sight of the big man stuck half inside; he could too well imagine his legs stuck on the other side, kicking and scrambling. Sven grumbled under his breath until Keith decided to give him a hand; he grabbed one of his arms before pulling, feeling foolish. Something gave somewhere and Sven tumbled inside the cellar with a muffled curse.

“You okay?” Keith asked in a low voice.

“I think I tore my pants,” Sven said in dismay.

Keith shone the flashlight on him: there was indeed a large tear in his pants going from mid-thigh to his calf. The skin beneath was chafed and bled in some places. It was nothing too bad, but Sven looked mortified at the sight of his exposed flesh.

“Stop fretting,” Keith said with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve got nothing I’ve never seen before. Let’s move on, or Krolia and Shiro will leave without us.”

A narrow trapdoor set in the roof of the cellar opened into a well-appointed living room. With all the windows boarded over, the inside of the flat was gloomy. The place smelled of disuse and an inch of dust covered most surfaces. In the three bedrooms, the drawers had been emptied and left hanging open, as if the inhabitants had hurriedly fled. Out of instinct, Keith rummaged through the kitchen to see if they might have left food; except for some rotten fruits in the fridge, there was absolutely nothing to be had. The pantry had also been thoroughly cleaned. His stomach grumbled in disappointment.

Sven and he stood in the middle of the kitchen for a moment, listening. Being this close to the river, the sound of rushing water was a permanent background noise he had forgotten about. It brought back memories of his schooldays, an unhappy time of bullying and uncertainty.

They tried every river-facing window on the first floor to no avail; the boards were nailed properly and so close together that barely any light filtered through the cracks. On the second floor, they encountered the same problem. Growing frustration mounted inside Keith; surely, they wouldn’t be defeated by boarded up windows? They couldn’t go back to Lotor and say they didn’t have the needed intelligence simply because they’d been thwarted by planks of old wood.

The seconds ticked away while Keith paced the floor of the small bedroom, raking his brain for an idea. They were so close! If only he could look through that window, he’d see the school island! He had to resist the urge to tear the planks off the windowsills; he knew there were Galras posted on the street below, close enough that they wouldn’t fail to notice movement in a second-floor window. It was maddening, so much that even Sven appeared to be at a loss.

He nevertheless went to the window and, using the point of his knife, tried to silently pry loose a chunk of wood; at this point, even a tiny peephole would be better than nothing.

Engrossed as he was in his work, he didn’t hear the footsteps coming from downstairs. Sven grabbed his hand, stilling the grating of the knife against the wood. They listened, silent like statues. This could be either Kuro or Krolia looking for them—they were running out of time, after all. Keith would have recognised Kuro’s footsteps amongst hundreds, though, and this obviously wasn’t him. Krolia’s steps weren’t as noisy either. No, judging by the fracas, Keith hazarded that the people on the floor below, who were no more than two, were in a hurry.

Sven and he exchanged a look. There was nowhere to go from here and their only exit was blocked. The footsteps came closer and closer to the base of the stairwell. Keith heard, of all things, _giggling_ , then excited whispers; whoever was down there obviously wasn’t looking for interlopers. After a quick glance around the room, he grabbed Sven’s arm and pushed him into the emptied closet. It was a near thing—two people tumbled noisily into the room just as he was closing the door, leaving it ajar to be able to peep out.

The crack allowed him a narrow view of the bed and the nearest window. Two Galras, a man and a woman, were kissing each other enthusiastically. They kept giggling between kisses, talking to each other in low voices. They were so engrossed in the other’s presence that he doubted they’d have noticed Sven and him even if they hadn’t been hidden. They were soon tearing their clothes off, still giggling, a sound that unsettled him—he had never seen any Galra act that… carefree. He doubted that even Lotor would be brazen enough to have sex in some stranger’s house while on duty.

Keith averted his eyes, not wanting to see more. He kept very still as he waited for the two lovers to be finished, hoping this was just a quick tumble and that they weren’t here for hours. Their air in the closet was uncomfortably stuffy and it was beyond weird to be hiding here with Sven when two people were having sex on the other side of the door.

It lasted a while, enough that they missed their rendezvous time with Kuro and Krolia. They had no way of communicating with them. At least there had been no commotion, so perhaps they wouldn’t think the two men had been taken.

Galras could go at it for a long time, it seems—Keith kind of understood now where his own stamina came from. The cupboard was cramped, too small for both Sven and him. Worse, it was getting hot; he couldn’t help sweating despite his bodysuit. It was also painfully awkward, what with Sven who seemed to be pressing against the far wall as far as possible from him. Still, despite his best efforts, their shoulders brushed whenever one of them moved.

The two Galras finally finished. They laid for a long moment on the bed, still talking in low voices. Their murmurs felt far more intimate than their lovemaking, making Keith embarrassed to be witnessed to them. From what he gathered, they were both on duty and both promised to another, which meant that eloping as they had done was dangerous; he hoped none of their commanding officer would think to come looking for them.

After taking a breather, they decided to go back downstairs for their lunch—they had seemingly been on a break. They didn’t bother with putting their clothes back on, which told Keith there would certainly be a round two afterwards. They subsequently left the room with their uniforms on the floor, still talking in low voices.

Once their footsteps had retreated down the stairs, Keith opened the closet door and stepped out. The air inside the bedroom smelled of sex, but it was noticeably cooler. Shit, how did he always get himself into such situations? He could already hear Lotor’s laughter when told where his two missing men had been; the bastard would have a merry time making fun of them.

Annoyed about the whole situation, Keith looked around the room, trying to see if there could be a better hiding spot than the wardrobe. His eyes fell on the discarded pile of clothes and, amongst the tangled sleeves of bodysuits, he spotted something that looked rigid. Throwing caution to the wind, he fetched what ended up being a data pad. Heart hammering in excitement, he browsed the content. His eyes went wide—plans, notes, orders, lists of troops, lists of shipments for goods, names of officers.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, showing this to Sven.

“We can’t take it,” Sven answered sternly. “They’ll notice it’s missing.”

“Not if we leave before they’re done screwing.” He thought rapidly. “Let’s hide in the bathroom next door. Once they’re back here, we’ll leave.”

“What if they hear us?”

Keith groaned. “You heard them! Nothing else but the other exists when they’re together! We could go downstairs and walk beside them and they wouldn’t notice us!”

Sven obviously wasn’t happy with the plan; his eyes roamed the room, probably in an attempt to come up with something better. He took the data pad from Keith, looking at it from every angle.

“I don’t have enough time to clone it,” he grumbled unhappily. “Fine, I suppose we could knock them unconscious if they catch us.”

Keith didn’t want to resort to that—it would be better if nobody ever knew they were here. If it came to this, however, they wouldn’t have any other option.

Careful not to make any sound, they crossed the hallway into the bathroom. Keith hugged the data pad against his chest protectively—he’d checked its content for ten seconds and he’d found more information than he’d ever hoped. He couldn’t begin to imagine what else they could discover on it.

As he had predicted, the two Galras went back to the bedroom in a hurry; they rushed by the open door of the bathroom without once looking in that direction. By the time they’d thrown themselves on the bed, Keith and Sven were tiptoeing downstairs.


	39. Chapter 39

“I thought I’d told you to go back!” Keith exclaimed when he saw Kuro and Krolia waiting for him.

They’d admittedly gone back into the tunnel, but they hadn’t gone back to the base as he had ordered them to. All in all, Keith and Sven had been stuck in that house for around two hours, which meant they’d be two hours late to meet back with Lotor.

“We didn’t want to leave you behind,” Kuro admitted, looking a bit shamefaced.

Finding the data pad had put Keith in a good mood and, to be honest, he didn’t even know if he had the right to chastise them; he didn’t _feel_ like a leader even though they both had accepted his position. It still kind of annoyed him that they had refused to obey because he didn’t know what to do with subordinates who didn’t listen.

“Whatever,” he grumbled. “We’ve got what we came for.” He showed them the data pad. “It should be enough to help us. Let’s go back.”

The Balmerans looked to have regained some strength from the long break and agreed to partially close the hole that lead to the surface to ensure it wouldn’t be discovered by accident by anyone from Sendak’s troops. They wouldn’t fill the whole tunnel, however, in case it needed to be used again once Lotor decided what he wanted to do next.

By reason of the success of their mission, the air amongst the small group was lighter than when they had first arrived. Kuro teased Sven about the tear in his pants, which made even Krolia smile at it. Keith refrained himself from fiddling with the data pad in fear of dropping and breaking it, so he tucked it securely into his bag, really hoping this would help them.

“You did great on this mission,” Kuro told him. As they were walking side by side, he took advantage of their proximity to intertwine their fingers together. “You’re a good leader.”

Keith grunted. “Krolia and you disobeyed me, so I can’t be that much of a good leader.”

“We feared for you, that’s all.” He flashed a smile. “Don’t be angry?”

“I’m not angry, I just… urgh, I just don’t like being the leader, okay? I’m no good at it.”

Kuro looked at him in surprise. “No good at it? Baby, that’s the opposite, everybody thinks you’re great at it. Haven’t you always been the leader anyway?”

“No, that was Lance, I merely followed his orders.” He amended: “On some matters. I still think _you_ should lead.”

Kuro chuckled. “If our positions had been reversed today, would you have obeyed me and gone home while I was still missing?”

Keith wanted to answer that yes, he’d have followed orders. He didn’t because it would be a lie. Of course he’d have waited for Kuro—hell, knowing himself, he’d have gone after the other man even if he’d been told not to.

Reading his annoyed expression, Kuro understood. He grinned down at him in victory and Keith scowled, embarrassed to have been caught up so easily. His mask was slipping these days—it felt as if everybody could read his face and guess what was going on in his mind with a single look at him.

They reached their destination a couple of hours later. They were all tired from the long walk, though not as much as the Balmerans who’d admittedly done nearly all the hard work themselves. Despite this, there was an obvious bounce to Shay’s steps as she climbed the last stairs towards the surface. She hummed under her breath, not at all winded by the climb. If Keith had to hazard a guess, he’d say she was looking forward to seeing Hunk again.

Lotor wasn’t waiting for them. He’d left that task to Axca instead. The woman sat quietly on her own in the empty building near the HQ. When they emerged from the hole, she got to her feet quickly. There was a thinly-veiled expression of wonderment as she allowed herself to glance down into the hole.

“Does it really reach the river?” she asked.

Keith nodded. “Yes, all the way. Lotor’s waiting for us?”

“Yes. The prince wishes you to visit him immediately upon your return for your debriefing.”

“He won’t be in bed with girls, won’t he?” Keith asked.

Axca did an amazing job at hiding her blush. She cleared her throat. “No.”

She accompanied them back to the HQ. The early morning was peaceful. For one of the rare times since the war began, Keith saw no plumes of smoke on the horizon. The sky lightened in the distance, turning a breathlessly beautiful shade of pink. The crisp air promised another cold day. Keith couldn’t help thinking about all those displaced people of low town—being homeless at that time of year was the worst.

He shook the gloom of those past days to focus his attention on the task at hand. He dismissed the rest of his team and the Balmerans before following Axca to Lotor’s new quarters. Those consisted of nothing more than a cot pushed against a wall, shielded from the rest of the room by a folding screen. Keith waited while Axca woke the prince—like hell Keith would do it. He stood there awkwardly while Lotor spoke to Axca in that low, crooning tone he used when he flirted.

Keith had seen Lotor nearly naked once, yet it was still weird to see him sitting shirtless on his cot. He didn’t look like a prince—he looked like any common bloke waking up. His long white hair was a mess and the haziness of sleep still lingered in his yellow eyes. Keith had seen him nearly naked, but it was the first time he was seeing him showing signs of exhaustion. Normally, during the day, Lotor hid his tiredness behind a veneer of boundless energy and good cheer. That morning, he did look like their tired leader. It made Keith wonder how old exactly the prince might be. He’d heard that Lotor was thousands of years old without knowing what it translated to in human years. Perhaps early thirties? Early thirties with the crushing weight of an empire resting on his shoulders understandably made him look older.

“So, you’re back. How did it go?” Lotor said, voice still thick from sleep.

“It went fine. We couldn’t quite reach our destination, but I believe what we found will be much more useful than some pictures of the waterfront.”

When Lotor quirked a questioning eyebrow at him, Keith pulled out the data pad he’d pilfered from that enamoured Galra’s discarded clothes and handed it to him. Lotor went through its content distractedly until his whole body language changed: he leaned forward, eyes widening.

“Keith, this is amazing. How did you know to take this data pad from Sendak’s quartermaster?”

A shrug. “I didn’t. I just stumbled upon it by luck.”

“You must be the luckiest bloke in this city, then.” He waved the data pad. “With this, we’ll be able to analyse troop movements and judge their numbers by the quantity of rations needed. We even have a detailed plan of troop dispositions.” Lotor grinned, looking honestly excited. “I believe we can win this war with this.”

Keith had no idea what to answer. He’d hoped this would be helpful, but helpful enough to _win_ the war? His heart beat faster in excitement—he wanted to curb his hope, yet the victorious glint in Lotor’s eyes made it difficult. Lotor was looking as if he’d been handed the key to the secrets of the universe.

 “Why do you want to win this war so much?” Keith found himself asking. “It’s just Earth. What do the Galras care about Earth?”

“It’s not _just_ Earth, Keith. We aren’t really fighting for control of this planet, surely you’ve realised this by now. It is a personal between Sendak and me. We will fight this out to the death.”

“Why is it personal? Because he’s spurned you as his lover?”

Lotor laughed. “No, no, nothing like that! There was no feelings between us. He was my father’s best trusted officer and I slept with him only as a way to get back to my father.”

“Wow, I should introduce you to a friend of mine; he’s got the same daddy issues as you.”

Lotor’s fangs glinted in the weak morning light as he grinned. “It’s not mere daddy issues, Keith. You really think I’d be petty enough to have a full-blown war with Sendak merely because we are no longer together? He wasn’t that good of a lover to start with—way too brutal and uncaring of his partner’s pleasure. No, I said it is personal because it is about my father’s empire. Sendak and I chose to fight it out on Earth, but it could have happened anywhere else in the universe. Your planet is just unlucky enough to have been the place where Zarkon died. If I don’t kill Sendak, I’ll never be able to rule, and the same goes for him if he doesn’t kill me. Earth is merely our battlefield, nothing more.”

“I see. And once you’ve won, what will you do?”

Lotor looked slightly surprised by the question. “Why, that’s a very good question. I have several ideas and objectives. One includes the Galras leaving Earth altogether. Contrary to my father and Sendak, I am a firm believer that conquered planets should be ruled by their inhabitants. You would still be part of the empire, of course, but you’d be left to your own devices. You would be… a vassal, of sorts.”

Keith smiled humourlessly. “Uh, so we wouldn’t be independent.”

“Oh, perhaps in a few millennia when Earth is big enough to survive on its own, who knows. Don’t worry, I don’t intend on hovering over the shoulder of every one of my vassals. You know I’m not a hard master to please.”

“That’s true,” Keith admitted. “Anyway, we gotta win this war and put you on the throne first. Afterward, I don’t really care for what happens.”

“You do care, Keith, otherwise you wouldn’t be helping me.” Lotor considered him for a moment. “Humans are strange. They’ve rejected you and hurt you, and yet you fight for them.”

Keith didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t sure of his own heart, wasn’t certain why exactly he _was_ helping. When Sven had told him what would happen to Earth if Commander Sendak took control of the empire, he hadn’t cared that much. Earth’s demise would happen long after his death. The sole reason why he’d joined this madness in the first place was to put Lance’s family in a safe place. He hadn’t expected to get this involved, hadn’t expected to be so trusted as to be talking to Lotor first thing in the morning while he was still in bed.

 _Why_ was he getting so involved? He tried to tell himself he was simply going with the flow—Lotor had given him one task, then two, and now here they were. It wasn’t entirely true however, wasn’t it? He cared somewhere deep down inside, though he couldn’t tell whether he cared solely for those he knew or the whole human race as a whole. Earth was the only planet, the only home, he’s ever known. It seemed normal, sensible even, to be fighting for it.

“I live on Earth. It’d be stupid to want it destroyed, especially to satisfy the likes of Sendak.”

Lotor laughed. “Well said! You may go now, Keith. You look tired. Get some sleep and we’ll talk later. Who knows, maybe I’ll have come up with a plan to win this war by then, thanks to your efforts.”

-

He was tired. And hungry. The population of the HQ was slowly waking up as Keith made his way to his cot. The buzz of the slow conversation would soon swell enough to make it difficult to sleep. There were days when he considered moving his cot to one of the empty buildings surrounding the HQ just so he could get one silent night of sleep. He’d do it, if he didn’t fear being taken unawares by one of Sendak’s patrols. Again. He wasn’t looking forward to a repeat with the stun gun.

He shared his sleeping space with Kuro and he was surprised to see that the other man wasn’t already sleeping yet.

“I need to write a mission report,” Kuro explained. “But my tablet died. I kind of dropped it.”

He showed the broken tablet to Keith with a disconsolate air. The screen had shattered upon impact and one corner was cracked. Kuro liked this kind of stuff—mission reports and details. He liked to have a sort of paper trail. So, every evening if he’d been sent out on an errand by Lotor, he wrote it all down on his tablet. Whether for posterity or simply because filling forms had been ingrained on him as a policeman, Keith didn’t know. It was just endearing seeing him bent over that tablet of his trying to come up with an adequate way to describe what he’d done.

“Use my laptop,” Keith said, waving in the general direction of his bag. “I’ll take a shower. Afterward, we sleep, report finished or not.”

He only had to wait ten minutes for his turn in the shower, a rarity. Normally, he’d wait in a queue for half an hour just to have two minutes under a lukewarm spray of questionably clean water. A lot of people had decided, quite unwisely, to go without washing every day. It meant the press of the crowd inside the HQ became all the more unbearable. Keith couldn’t stand skipping a day, especially not if he’d been out on some mission for Lotor.

He’d become a pro at showering in under five minutes. It helped that he didn’t care for modesty—he’d start undressing as soon as a stall was ready while others had to wait to be inside, out of sight, to do so. This early, there was still some warm water left so he enjoyed five minutes under a lukewarm spray rather than a under a freezing one. Once he was finished, he put on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt he’d stolen from Kuro a while ago. He tied his wet hair back, gathered his discarded clothes, then left the shower room to go back to his cot. Tiredness dragged at his heels. He really hoped Kuro would be finished with his stupid report so they could sleep. Maybe giving him the laptop had been—

Keith’s steps faltered. Oh, shit, the laptop. The laptop upon which were stored the pictures and videos he’d uploaded on his blog. It was still all there—he never deleted anything.

When he saw Kuro’s red face, he knew he’d seen them. Keith groaned, embarrassed for some stupid reason.

Kuro made an odd, twitchy gesture as he spotted Keith standing beside the cot. The laptop fell from his lap.

“Uh,” he began eloquently, blushing. “I’m sorry I swear I wasn’t snooping!”

“It’s fine,” Keith said with a tired sigh. He lied down on the cot. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

Kuro looked uncertain. He cleared his throat. “True, but, uh, I’m sorry nonetheless. I was just looking for the file I’d saved and I… err… stumbled upon the… pictures…”

Keith wasn’t mad and, if he’d been mad, he couldn’t have remained so in front of Kuro’s embarrassed, sorry face. “Puppy, it’s fine, don’t sweat it. Can we just sleep now?”

The laptop went back into the bag and Kuro finally lied down, pulling the blanket up his shoulders. With their cots pushed together, it made for a sort of narrow, uncomfortable double bed. Although it wasn’t the best, it meant they could cuddle under the blankets.

“You’re much better looking now,” Kuro said in a low voice. At Keith’s silence, he elaborated by saying: “You didn’t look happy on those pictures. You were… very beautiful, but not happy.”

Keith didn’t know what to answer. The pictures he’d taken for his blog went back for about five years. There had been instances when he hadn’t been happy with his life, especially at the beginning. He shouldn’t be surprised that Kuro would have picked up on that.

“I especially liked that video when you laughed.”

“What?”

“Yes. There’s that one video where you appear to be adjusting the camera, and Lance walks in. He throws himself on the bed beside you and he tickles you. It makes you laugh. You’re disheveled and out of breath afterward. There’s a fond smile on your face after he leaves you alone. You were very cute.”

Keith’s face burned. They were so close that Kuro couldn’t fail to notice his red cheeks. It was an oddly sweet thing to say. There had to be hundreds of videos and photos on that laptop of Keith in different states of undress, and yet Kuro had stuck on the one where he had his clothes on, laughing rather than moaning like a porn star.

“Of course,” Kuro added, lowering his voice. His own cheeks reddened. “You also looked very desirable with those white, sheer panties…” He groaned, closing his eyes. “Please, put me out of my misery! I’m so sorry, baby, I shouldn’t be saying stuff like that.”

Keith laughed, chest warm. He wrapped his arms around the other man, pulling him in. “You’re the best, puppy.”

“I love you, baby.”

“I know.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning:  
> -Violence

Keith woke up to the sound of screams. He jerked awake, sitting bolt upright on his cot with his heart hammering. For a long, terrifying second, he had absolutely no idea what was happening. Befuddled by sleep, he looked around without understand what his eyes were registering.

Then it all made sense: the HQ was being attacked. How that was possible since the particle barrier was up, he didn’t know. He didn’t have time to ponder it either. However it had happened, there were enemy soldiers with swords out attacking his people.

In the five seconds it took him to come to that conclusion, Kuro was already up and gearing for a fight. Keith followed suit, picking up his knife from beneath his pillow. Above the shouting, he heard Lotor’s voice barking orders indistinctly. Keith had no idea where the prince might be in the melee. Terrified civilians were running about, trying to run away from the enemy soldiers in a building already too small to fit them all in. Cots, abandoned bags, miscellaneous items, they were all conspiring to trip the panicking mob. People fell to the ground while others stampeded over them in their hurry to be away.

“Find the prince,” Keith told Kuro, “I need to find Lance!”

Kuro nodded sharply and pushed through the throng. People didn’t quite part for him, but they did twitch away from him and his murderous look, which helped. Keith watched him go for a second before going after Lance, shouting his name. He elbowed his way through the panicking mass. Their terror was trying to get to him—he felt it at the back of his throat, trying to grab hold of him. He pushed it back down savagely—now wasn’t the time to be afraid. Elbows flew, catching him in the ribs. Keith thought he spotted someone looking like Luis, but someone blocked his view before he could be certain.

“Keith!”

He couldn’t stop—the crowd was pushing towards the back of the building and taking him with it. He planted his feet, standing on tiptoe, trying to see above the heads. There! Keith saw Lance waving madly from a dozen feet away, entirely swarmed by people. Gritting his teeth, he cut through the mass. Although he didn’t want to hurt anyone in his hurry, he nonetheless brandished his knife, barking at everyone to move aside. Out the corner of his eye, he saw that Lotor was organizing the defense. Soldiers were pulling themselves together, directing the crowd while trying to push back the invaders.

Like a drowning man, Lance grabbed his arm as soon as he was within reach. He held protectively a bawling Katarzyna in his free arm. His face was white with fear. Keith pulled him close as they were relentlessly pushed back. Like a tidal wave, the crowd still tried to move away from the enemy soldiers. There was no other exit out of the HQ. The civilians were climbing as best as possible to the gantry that circled the whole building and pulling themselves out through the broken windows. This was madness—if they didn’t get killed by Sendak’s soldiers, they would kill themselves by falling off the second floor.

Soon, both Keith and Lance found themselves against the wall, near the place where Lotor’s rooms had been before the explosion. The place was still corded off, but a lot of people were trying to evacuate that way nevertheless. Keith pushed until they found themselves more or less with their backs to a corner. The press eased somewhat, making it possible to catch one full breath. Katarzyna kept crying, afraid and confused by all the noise. Lance’s eyes were huge in his pale face.

Keith didn’t know what to do—it was his duty to join the other soldiers fighting off the invaders, but he couldn’t leave Lance alone, especially not since he had Katarzyna to take care of. What should he do? There was no place that was safe. He had no idea what the situation outside the HQ looked like. Leaving the building might be more dangerous than staying inside. On the other hand, if they remained here, the risk of getting trampled to death increased with each passing second.

He stood on his tiptoe, trying to see if there would be a fellow solider nearby willing to take Lance to safety. Those he saw were too far to be of help. There was a surge in the crowd and a few people crashed into him. He found himself pushed against Lance. He caught himself with one hand on the wall, tensing, trying to push back so he wouldn’t crush Katarzyna. Something slammed into the small of his back, tearing the breath out of his lungs. For a horrifying second, he was sure he’d fall on his knees and get trampled in the process. Thankfully, Lance managed to catch him by the back of his shirt.

The press eased again. Keith pushed back his hair from his sweaty forehead. They had to get out of here or they’d get crushed to death. Their best chance was through the half-collapsed ruins that used to be Lotor’s chambers. Keith looked in that direction—it was perhaps a dozen feet away. Across the sea of people, it might have been on another continent altogether. He needed an opening, no more than five seconds.

Lance followed his gaze. He seemed to understand what Keith had in mind.

“I have my gun,” he said, shouting to be heard over the din. He grinned weakly. “At the back of my belt. Take it, I can’t reach it from that angle.”

For a second, Keith thought with horror that Lance uncharacteristically wanted him to shoot _into_ the crowd. Then he realised what he meant. As another surge pushed them one against the other, Keith reached behind Lance’s back to grab the gun. He heard Lance say something comical, and he was once again amazed at his friend’s ability to make light of any situation. Here they were with his daughter, about to be crushed by a human tidal wave, and he still found it in himself to joke.

Keith tugged the pistol free, aimed it towards the ceiling, and fired twice. Despite the cacophony of screams, the gunshot resounded loudly. Those nearest him saw the weapon in his hand and cringed away from him instinctively. Those further back who’d only heard it tried to push away from the direction of the noise. Keith had his opening: he grabbed Lance’s arm and dragged him hurriedly in the right direction. They both got elbowed and kicked, mostly on accident. There was a new sense of panic trying to grip Keith’s mind: what if Lance fell or dropped Katarzyna? He tried not to think of what would happen to the baby should she fall to the floor.

There probably had been no exit out before this. As it stood, in their panic, a few people had managed to claw at the crumbling, half-heartedly repaired wall to the outside. Watery light fell in through the hole. There were already many men and women trying to get out. Only one at the time could squeeze through the hole and Keith saw that fights had broken out for precedence. Keith had no time for this madness—he once again fired the gun. People screamed and threw themselves away from him, suddenly more afraid of him and his gun than of the attacking enemy.

Keith pushed Lance through the opening before following him. The second they were out, he realised it had been a dumb idea—there were enemy soldiers ready to grab any of those making a run for it. There had to be thirty or forty of them, armed with clubs and batons, swinging at helpless civilians with wild abandon.

“Shit!” he exclaimed.

His goal had been to take Lance and Katarzyna to the tunnel they’d used just yesterday to reach the bridge. Nobody knew about it so they would have been safe. Now, to do so, they’ had to traverse a veritable battlefield. If it had been only Lance and him, Keith was pretty sure they would have made it. With Katarzyna however, things got more complicated. Lance had to hold her against him securely, using both arms if possible. It made him totally useless, totally unable to fend for himself.

Still, they had to try. They couldn’t just remain here in the open. Keith had no idea how things stood—he didn’t know whether Lotor or Sendak had the upper hand. He wasn’t good enough at reading the movements of a battlefield to assess the situation properly.

Taking a deep breath, he tightened his grip on his knife. As it had done in the tunnel, it suddenly changed. It elongated, going from dagger-size to length of a short sword in a blaze of purple light. He handed the gun back to Lance—there were only three bullets left in the chamber, but it was better than nothing. Lance looked grim and resolute. This reminded Keith of their early days in the drug trade when they’d be getting ready to walk into a dangerous situation.

Keith pulled Lance closer and pointed in the distance. “See that building? We’re going there. There’s the entrance of the tunnel the Balmerans made for us. It should be safe down there.”

Lance nodded grimly. Against the backdrop of the bloody battlefield, he looked fierce despite wearing no shoes and no adequate jacket for the weather.

There was no other solution but to cut a path through. Taking a deep breath, Keith took the lead. Sword at the ready, he picked his way rapidly, trying to avoid the bigger knots of fighting. Lotor’s soldiers were at work, trying to push back the invaders. They were outnumbering Sendak’s men while also having to protect the civilians, which put them at a disadvantage. Keith paid it all no mind, his focus on that building they had to reach.

The first enemy soldier who tried to stop them got a blade through the chest. The second got a nasty cut across their face. Blood exploded from every direction.

After a moment, Keith was too busy scything his way through to notice anything else. He kept a tiny part of his awareness on Lance while focusing the rest on the fighting. He wore no armor, only the shirt and underwear he’d put on before going to bed last night. None of it offered any padding. Soon, his legs from knee to toes were black and blue from kicks. His knuckles bled from punches. He had a cut across the chest that bled sluggishly and another one across the forehead that oozed blood into his eyes. Once, when his sword was locked against the baton of an enemy, a bullet whizzed by his ear to embed itself into the snarling face of the Galra. He barely acknowledged the fountain of warm liquid spurting into his face.

He thought he wasn’t getting tired until his naked foot slipped on a wet cobblestone. He nearly fell in a graceless heap, catching himself at the last second. They were in a tiny pocket of calm—everybody had someone else to fight so no attention fell on them. He remained there, panting to catch his breath. He shook from the adrenaline rushing through his veins. Beside him, Lance wasn’t looking much better. There was blood spattered across his clothes

There were red droplets on Katarzyna’s blue blanket. Keith’s heart sank at the sight. He knew it wasn’t hers—she was squirming vigorously in her father’s hold, evidently healthy. He had to get her out of here before she got wounded. How easily would it be for a Galra to simply club her out of Lance’s grasp—

“Keith!” someone shouted from behind.

Before he turned to see who had called out, Krolia was by his side, panting too. Just like them, there was blood on her suit, on her skin, and even in her hair. Her eyes softened visibly as he took them in, apparently relieved to see they were all right.

“I’m taking them to the tunnel,” Keith explained. “We should—”

He was cut short by the sudden arrival of three enemy Galras bearing down on them. Both Krolia and he jumped into action. Krolia, evidently the better fighter, dispatched two of them while Keith offed the last one. It was over in the blink of an eye.

Krolia waved at them both to hurry towards the tunnel entrance. Keith felt better knowing she was guarding their back. Lance, despite everything, looked impressed by what he’d just witnessed. Keith realised that his friend hadn’t seen him fight this seriously since the Fightdome—with Krolia’s tutelage, he’d gotten much better.

Twice more they had to fight their way through a small blockade. By the time they reached the building, Keith’s arms were painted red up to his elbows. It was something his suit would have hidden normally and he tried not to be too grossed out by the gore on his skin.

The building stood at the edge of the circle of protection afforded by the particle barrier. Nevertheless, its door had been locked and, since only Lotor had the key, Krolia had to kick it in. They stumbled inside, closing the door behind them quickly. They stood there for a long moment, catching their breath. Either too terrorized or too tired, Katarzyna had stopped crying. Her eyes were open huge however as she sucked her thumb. Despite the smudge of blood on her blanket, there wasn’t a single mark on her.

Lance slid down the wall until he sat on the floor, chest heaving. He put down the gun, his hand surprisingly steady for someone who’d just run across a battlefield full of enemy soldiers.

Krolia kept her back to the closed door, as if afraid someone might try to push their way in. “Are you both all right?” she asked.

“We’re fine,” Keith answered.

He was tired and battered and bruised, but he was alive and he’d gotten Lance and Katarzyna out, so it was fine. He tried not to think about the others, about Lance’s family. He should go back for them—Luis and his wife had two children to think of too, and Lance’s parents were getting too old for this kind of excitement. He didn’t worry about Sven or Kuro—they were both fighters, they knew how to take care of themselves. What about James, though?

“Where are you going?” Krolia asked when he made to push past her.

“Back. There’re people I need to check on.”

“No. You stay here. Keep an eye on these two. You’re not fit battle right now.”

“What?!”

“You’re not wearing your armour, Keith. You cannot go back like that, you’ll get yourself killed. You’re wounded, anyway.”

Keith stared at her, eyes wide. A flash of anger boiled through him. “I’m fine! I can fight!” He waved towards Lance. “I can’t leave his family to be trampled upon!”

“Don’t go back.” Lance’s voice cut through the heavy silence. Keith turned to him, aghast. “Keith, she’s right, it’s too dangerous. What if you get killed? I can’t—” The words seemed to dry out. Lance cleared his throat, blinking furiously. “Keith, if they’re… gone, I can’t lose you too.”

He thought his family was dead. Keith’s dread was cranked up a notch. The cold suddenly felt overbearing, chilling even his bones. He stared at Lance, numb with shock. That couldn’t be it. They couldn’t be dead. He wanted to say so, but the words never made it past his throat. He couldn’t give reassurance when he didn’t know the truth. It was entirely possible that they had died. Even if he didn’t want to contemplate such a horrible outcome, it wasn’t a farfetched one. He’d seen the panic inside, he’s seen the butchery outside.

Keith had no idea his legs had gone to jelly up until he sat heavily on the cold floor. Krolia gave him a sad look. Keith’s stiff fingers finally let go of the bloodied hilt of his sword. It turned back into a dagger quickly. Its purplish blade was gory.

After a moment, Krolia announced she had to go back. Keith barely heard her. When he didn’t answer, she crouched in front of him, grabbed his shoulders, and shook him until his gaze finally focused on her face. Her features were pulled in a hard frown softened by the look of worry in her eyes.

“Keith, pull yourself together. You’re safe here for the moment, but we don’t know for how long. Promise me you’ll go down the tunnel if things go too dangerous.”

He mumbled something. She shook him once again, harder this time, until his teeth clacked together painfully.

“Promise,” she hissed.

It took a certain amount of will to pull himself together long enough to answer. “I will.”

“Good.” She wiped some drying blood from his cheek. “I don’t want to lose you again. I’ll be back as soon as possible. Don’t open the door for anyone but me, understood?”

“Yes.”

She gave him one last hard look before getting to her feet and leaving, silent as a shadow.

Keith remained seated there, mind in a fog. He kept thinking about Lance’s words, about how he thought his family had perished out there.

“Lance, Lance, I have to go back.”

“You can’t! Keith, what if—” There were tears in Lance’s voice that tore at Keith’s heart. “What if you get killed _too_? What will I do? What if some Galra bastard breaks down this door while you’re gone? How will I fight them off while protecting Katarzyna?”

Keith looked at his friend, looked at his resolute, sad expression. He could see the conflict within him so clearly: Lance wanted him to go back out there for his family—hell, he wanted to go back _himself_. However, he knew that they’d likely die if they did so. Lance wasn’t willing to let Keith get killed because he might be his last family member.

Keith felt torn—his heart ached as if it were physically being pulled into two different directions. It wasn’t only Lance’s family out there he wanted to go to—it was Kuro too. He had to be smart about this, had to see past his emotions. Was he willing to risk Lance’s and Katarzyna’s lives for Kuro? The fact that he had no way of answering this question terrified him. Kuro could fend for himself, he kept repeating in his mind. Kuro was strong and a fighter and he was probably with Lotor, so he had a better chance of surviving than Lance who had only two bullets left in his gun and a baby to take care of.

They sat in uneasy, terrified silence as the battle raged on around. Voices got closer, footsteps hurried by. Every time, Keith tensed, grabbing his knife anew, ready to defense the occupants of the small building. Nobody tried the door—looking at it from the outside, it did look barred, and trying to open it would cost precious seconds to anyone trying to run from the battlefield.

Since there was no window, Keith couldn’t keep an eye on what was happening out there. He felt cowardly, sitting here in relative safety, while others fought for their life. Every time he was tempted to go back, he glanced at Lance to remind himself why he hadn’t left in the first place.

After what seemed like a very long time, the noise outside died down. It had to be late afternoon judging by the quality of the light seeping through the cracks in the doorjamb. Keith and Lance sat side by side, both miserably cold, both trying to keep Katarzyna warm between them. Lance had been terribly quiet, uncharacteristically so. Keith didn’t have the strength to strike a conversation, so they stewed in their misery silently.

It had to be about an hour later that Krolia finally came back for them. When she opened the door, Keith jumped to his feet, dagger unsheathed. Relief flooded him when he realised who it was. There were new scratches on her face. Other than those, she appeared to be fine.

“It’s fine to come out,” she said. “We’ve secured the place.”

Stiffly, they followed her out of the small building. The ground was littered with bodies, civilians and soldiers alike. Keith didn’t think he’d ever seen that many dead people at the same time. His throat tightened at the butchery. Although there was no smell thanks to the cold weather, the sight of drying puddles of blood couldn’t be ignored. The cobblestones were slick with it.

Things weren’t much better inside. Keith stopped dead in his tracks in the doorway, staring with huge eyes. The place had been utterly wrecked. Every object had been smashed to pieces. There wasn’t one cot still in one piece. Glass, splinters of wood and metal, strips of cloth littered the floor alongside more bodies. The smell of spilled food permeated the air alongside that of emptied bowels and fear. Already, a few civilians were trying to clean up the mess, moving half-heartedly, too stunned to do anything but obey.

Amongst the carnage stood Lotor. The prince looked beside himself with fury. He’d clearly been in the thick of things: his white hair was messy, there were scratches on his face and tears in his clothes, and blood on his unsheathed sword. The bloodlust hadn’t yet left his eyes as he surveyed the remnants of his HQ. Keith nearly flinched when Lotor glanced at him uncaringly.

“What happened?” Keith asked.

“Where have you been?!”

The roar coming from Lotor took Keith aback. He froze in his tracks as the prince advanced on him, puffed up with righteous fury. Keith had never seen him angry, and it reminded him uncomfortably that Lotor was half-Galra too and quite impressive.

The anger oozing from the prince thankfully melted the cloud of stunned disbelief that had surrounded him.

“Protecting Lance and his daughter,” Keith answered, gesturing towards his friend.

“Your duty isn’t only to _two_ people!”

“My duty is exactly that! I joined you so they would be safe! Of course the first thing I’d do in case of danger is make sure they are protected! What did you expect?!”

Lotor’s jaw worked as he tried to reign in his anger. It leaked out of him by degrees up until he looked more like his normal self.

“What happened?” Keith asked again.

“I am not certain yet. Early reports claim Sendak’s people dug a tunnel, of all things.” A wry smile tugged at Lotor’s lips. “Can you imagine? Our own mean of sneaking on them turned against us.”

“They dug beneath the particle barrier?”

“Yes.” Lotor waved at him. “Look for survivors and help the wounded. Oh, and Keith? Find your suit, please. We cannot have you running around in that torn up shirt and tiny underwear.”


	41. Chapter 41

Keith nearly cried in relief when they found Lance’s family alive. They had Allura and the Balmerans to thank for their fast thinking: as soon as they attacked started, Allura ordered the Balmerans to open a hole in the ground where the civilians could hide. Lance’s family had happened to be with Allura at the moment so they’d been amongst the first to hide. The Balmerans had made a sort of underground pocket inside which about fifty civilians managed to hide before they had to close it off so it wouldn’t be found out.

They were all covered in dirt and scratched, but they were alive. Lance couldn’t stop thanking Allura and Shay. There were tears and laughter and so much relief Keith felt giddy with it.

He left them to it to look for Kuro and Sven. He found Sven first—the man had clearly been in the thick of the fighting. He was bruised and battered. There were tears in his clothes and scratches on his knuckles. Despite this, he looked healthy enough. He hardly looked at Keith as they exchanged a few words. He kept his eyes averted, probably embarrassed at the state of Keith’s undress.

He couldn’t find Kuro anywhere. Instead, he found James amongst the wounded being looked at by Veronica and a bunch of other helpers. He sat on the ground with a bandage around his head. He had a deep gash on his forehead that didn’t stop bleeding but seemed harmless enough. Just like everyone else, he was dirty and bruised from having been pushed around.

“Will you be fine?” Keith asked, touching the soggy reddened bandage.

James shrugged. “Veronica says I should. I mean, once I stop seeing double that is.”

“What? Do you have a concussion?”

“Minor one, perhaps. I don’t feel as bad as you look though.”

Keith sighed. “I got caught in the fighting while trying to get Lance away.”

“Is he all right?”

The question could have been asked merely for politeness’ sake. Keith knew however that James and Lance had come to a tenuous peace over the past weeks. They were courteous to each other. They were on speaking terms without being quite friendly. War and tight living quarters tended to do that, even to upstarts like James. It was difficult to muster anger when living crowded cheek by jowl on an empty belly. They had both decided to focus their energy on other matters.

“He’s fine,” Keith assured. “I’m glad you’re all right too.”

“I got knocked over the head pretty early on,” James said ruefully. “I guess nobody cared to off some bloke lying unconscious on the ground. It’s a small miracle I haven’t been trampled.”

“It’s a good thing. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later, all right? And make sure to talk to Veronica if you’re feeling woozy.”

James nodded, looking sad to see him go. Keith kind of wished he could just sit down for another hour, not necessarily next to him, but just so he could rest and try to make sense of what had happened.

Instead, he found himself sifting through the debris of the fight, looking for a proper attire. Everything had smashed to smithereens. There wasn’t one single cot left standing. Keith surveyed the mess with a heavy heart. Volunteers were trying to clear up a space while helping those who’d been wounded. A large crowd of men and women had been pushed to one side with wounds ranging from minor to fatal. Fala would never be able to heal them all before her magic ran out, not even with Allura’s help. Keith didn’t envy them their task.

He pushed aside the torn canvas of a cot and blinked at what he found underneath. A bag. _His_ bag. There wasn’t even a scratch on it. He pulled it out of the debris to inspect it closer. Inside was the uniform Lotor had given him, some knickknacks, and his laptop. The fact that the laptop was still pristine despite everything had to be some sort of cosmic joke. It had been wrapped inside the bodysuit so maybe it had protected it? It didn’t matter. At least he could change out of his ruined garments into something more appropriate to the situation.

By the end of the afternoon, Lotor had a partial report. News weren’t good: there was rations for two days and clean water for three, there was no more supplies to be had such as clothes or blankets, the transformer that generated electricity from quintessence had been badly damaged and, if not repaired quickly, wouldn’t last out the week. Hunk, Pidge, Sven, and a few others were already at work on it, but the prognostic wasn’t good. They had nothing to fix it with anyway—it was living on borrowed time. More distressing was the list of casualties; about half the civilians had been killed during the attack. Half of the surviving ones were wounded and, with what little medical supplies they had, a lot were likely to die. Lotor’s soldiers had taken the brunt of the force of the attack—he named all of his fallen comrades and the list seemed infinite. His generals, Ezor, Axca, Zethrid, and Krolia were mostly okay. Ezor had lost an eye during the attack and the madwoman had been content with a bandage before jumping back into the fray. Keith found them all a bit terrifying.

Lotor dismissed his people before motioning Keith and his team to stay. It was the first time since the morning that Keith saw Kuro. The man had been sent out scouting for any remaining enemy soldiers, and he’d taken a few Balmerans with him so they could close the tunnel that had been dug under the particle barrier. According to Shay, the tunnel had been dug with picks and axes, probably over a long period. When Lotor demanded to know why nobody had noticed it, they didn’t have an answer. The particle barrier had made them all feel too safe—they’d dropped their guard and it had led to this massacre. Keith felt he had a part of responsibility—just like the others, he hadn’t thought to keep an eye on the perimeter surrounding the barrier. He’d just assumed it would be enough deterrent to keep the enemy at bay.

“This can’t go on much longer,” Lotor admitted.

This sent a ripple of surprise amongst his entourage. Keith exchanged a surprised look with Kuro—he hadn’t expected Lotor to say so out loud. Up until then, he’d been the picture perfect of confidence. Not once had he wavered in his certainty that he would win this war.

Lotor gave them a half grin. “What, you believe me too blind to see the truth while it’s staring me in the face? Rejoice, for I am not. We’re running out of everything. We have to act tomorrow or this will become a war of attrition we are certain to lose.”

“What do you suggest?” Krolia asked.

“I say we attack them head-on!” Zethrid barked, cracking her knuckles.

Lotor threw her a fondly annoyed look. “We cannot attack them head-on, Zethrid. You saw the plans—they’d see us coming long before we reach them. And we cannot use the tunnel made by the Balmerans either because it’s too narrow for an army. We would be slaughtered the minute we step out on the other side.”

Zethrid scowled and didn’t argue. She wasn’t half the hothead she pretended to be: she did like a good brawl, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t think.

“But you _do_ have a plan,” Axca stated.

Of them all, she obviously knew Lotor best. She probably saw something on his face that indicated he had an idea at the back of his mind.

“Yes,” Lotor agreed cautiously. “It is risky, however. Thanks to the data pad Keith brought us yesterday, we know precisely the disposition of Sendak’s forces. We also know they outnumber us. There’s no need to look so grim. He outnumbers us, but he keeps most of his forces in upper town. They are ready to take the skymetro to the school island to come to his aid should he require it. For the moment, they simply sit and wait. If we could make sure they can never join him, we would erase his numerical advantage.” At their silence, he said: “We blow up the bridge.”

Keith wasn’t sure he heard right. Did Lotor just say he wanted to _blow up the bridge_? To destroy Unification Bridge that had been spanning the river for centuries? The bridge that was the only connexion between the two shores?

“I’m sorry, what?” he said.

Lotor let them voice their disbelief before elaborating: “It’s not such a big thing. The bridge could be rebuilt easily once the war is over. What matters right now is that we _win_ the war. Otherwise, it won’t matter to us whether there’s a way across or not.”

“Let’s say we humour you,” Keith said, crossing his arms over his chest, “how do you suppose we do that?”

“Explosives,” Sven cut in. “Explosives generating enough exploding power planted on both sides would be enough to collapse the bridge.”

“And how do you plan to get explosives on the other side, genius?” Zethrid asked with a scowl. “You gonna swim there?”

“Zethrid, let him speak,” Ezor chided gently.

Sven hesitated as all eyes were turned on him. “I know someone on the other side of the bridge who could plant the explosives for us.”

“Are they trustworthy?” Lotor asked seriously.

“Yes, very.”

“And where do we get such explosives?” Axca asked. “Can you fabricate them?”

“No. Well, I could, but there’s no time and I don’t have the necessary material. I know where to find some, however. It will require me to ride into the desert to fetch them.”

“Why do you have explosives in the desert?” Kuro asked, frowning.

Sven shrugged. “I was taught to be prepared for every eventuality.” He turned to Keith. “You know where they are.”

Keith opened his mouth to say that he had absolutely no idea when understanding dawned. In the desert. Sven knew where his father’s shack was. Holy shit, had the madman hidden explosives in his childhood home?!

“You truly are a man of many surprises,” Lotor said. “One day, we’ll have to sit down and talk further. For the moment, let’s assume we follow this plan. What will you do once you get the explosives? _How_ will you get them, by the way? You certainly cannot walk there.”

“We can use my hoverbike,” Keith suggested. “If it hasn’t been stolen or destroyed, of course.”

“Very well. And after that?”

They all looked at Sven, who was frowning, thinking. “Once we acquire the explosives, we could use the tunnel dug by the Balmerans to reach the shore. It opens quite close to the support pier. We’d simply have to lay the explosives at the base of the pier. Of course, I’d have to calculate the charge needed and where exactly to place it, but I believe it’s feasible.”

Lotor’s eyes bore into Sven for long moments. Sven returned the look calmly. He had the air of someone who knew what he was talking about and wouldn’t mind being challenged by questions. Keith had tons of questions, the first being _why the hell did you hide explosives in my home?!_ but he knew better than to raise them right now.

“Walk me through the whole process again,” Lotor said.

And Sven did. Keith tried to listen. There were technical terms that made no sense to him so he tuned the conversation off a bit. He was tired and hungry. The thought that there was little to eat made his stomach grumble all the more. He’d grown spoiled over the past few years—as a teenager living on the streets, he’d been able to go without proper food for days. The war had to end soon before they all died of hunger.

After a while, Lotor dismissed them after telling them to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Sven and he bent over the data pad, once again going over their half-assed plan.

Keith couldn’t quite believe they were considering blowing up the bridge. Was it possible to get rid of it with mere explosives? It seemed unlikely—the bridge had been built by the Galra, surely it had to be sturdy and ready to weather anything. Still, nobody had come up with a better plan. Since time was running out, they’d go with this one, mad as it was.

Night had settled by then. Keith was too restless to sleep so he helped the cleaning teams, pushing away debris and then sorting through them for what could be salvaged. As they worked, Keith came to the realisation that the destruction hadn’t been done haphazardly: the enemy Galras had systematically smashed everything to smithereens. They’d known it would destroy the moral of Lotor’s troops as well as depriving them from much-needed rations. Those soldiers who’d gone to their death to invade their HQ had done so knowing they were delivering a mortal blow to Lotor. Sendak was smart as well as patient. For this attack to go as planned, he had to work meticulously, patiently, and stealthily. If he had rushed the digging of that tunnel, he would have been found out and his plan would have been foiled. Keith had to admire that bastard’s tenacity.

He spent some time with Lance, glad to see that his family and he weren’t the worst for wear after their ordeal. He held Katarzyna while Lance, Luis, and Marco finished cobbling together a small bed for Nadia, Silvio, and her, using whatever was at hand. The children were tired, hungry, and grumpy, but they seemed to sense there was nothing the adults could do about it, so they kept sullenly quiet.

Keith noticed that Allura, when she wasn’t busy taking care of the wounded, came to sit beside Lance. The young woman was clearly exhausted, yet she managed to remain in high spirits. Her bright smile warmed everyone, and she was all too happy to hold Katarzyna. When she did, Lance looked at her as if she had hung the moon in the sky. The love in his face was radiant, and Keith thought that Allura wasn’t untouched by it. He kind of hoped she wasn’t—Lance and she would be a great couple. He wanted his friend to be happy.

It had to be nearing midnight when Sven came to find him. Just by looking at his face, Keith knew his plan had been approved. It was time to set it into motion. Dread as well as a tiny hint of excitement coursed through Keith’s spine.

Sven explained the broad lines of the plan: fetch the hoverbike, ride into to the shack into the desert for the explosives, gather them, drive back to the city, use the tunnel dug by the Balmerans _with the hoverbike_ to reach the shore, and plant the explosives at the right place on the bridge. In the meantime, Sven’s contact would be doing the same from upper town. The two combined explosions should be sufficient the collapse the bridge into the river. Even if it didn’t crumble completely, it would be useless, which would still serve their purpose.

Keith wasn’t keen about the thought of driving the bike down the narrow hole and into the old metro tunnels. He was pretty sure he could make it—he just wished he wasn’t so rusty at riding.

There were contingent plans if the bike had been destroyed, none of which were ideal.

Kuro and Krolia would accompany them all the way to his flat. Someone had suggested they used the Balmerans’ help again, but Lotor had been against it. He had to plan for a defeat, he explained candidly, and they were part of it if they wanted a chance to make it out alive. Keith didn’t ask about it. If he failed this mission, it was either because he’d been killed or captured, so he didn’t have to worry about a defeat.

He took Lotor aside, tugging him by the arm. “If I die out there, you have to take care of Lance and Kuro, all right?”

Lotor looked amused by the demand. “Oh? Do I?”

“Yes!” Keith tightened his grip on the other man’s arm. “I’ve been essential to your success so far so you owe it to me. I’m not asking for much: just make sure they don’t get killed, that they find somewhere safe to live.”

“It’s rather bold of you to demand anything of a prince.” Lotor smirked to show there was no sting to his words. “But you are right, Keith—you’ve been essential to my success so far. Once again, a lot rests on your shoulders. As much as it is possible to do so, I promise I’ll take care of your men.”

Keith stared at him, trying to gage those yellow eyes. Lotor’s face was difficult to read. He nevertheless thought he caught a glint of honesty there. It was enough—it was the most he could hope for. He knew Lotor couldn’t outright make a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. It was enough to know he’d try.

He didn’t tell Lance the extent of the plan. He just said he had to go on a reconnaissance mission and Lance took it all in stride. Keith had no doubt he caught the lie, but he knew he couldn’t be told everything. He hugged Keith tightly, conveying everything that couldn’t be said into one warm gesture.

When they left the HQ, Keith found himself looking back over his shoulder.

Kuro rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, reassuring him.

-

The distance between the HQ and his apartment wasn’t that great, but by sneaking and skulking in the shadows as they did, it seemed to take forever. They encountered half a dozen enemy patrols. Twice they had to fight their way through a blockage. Thankfully for them, Sendak’s men clearly hadn’t expected an incursion into their territory so their vigilance had been lax.

Nonetheless, Keith was starting to feel tiredness creeping up on him. He’d refused Fala’s offer to heal his wounds before he left since there were people actually at death’s door who needed her powers more than he did. The cuts and bruises acquired during yesterday’s fight throbbed dully, an annoyance at the back of his mind. He pushed on regardless, knowing he wasn’t the only one exhausted, bruised, and hungry.

The solemn silence that cloaked them as they made their way towards the flat wasn’t solely due to the need for stealth. They were all tensed, on edge. They knew that this was their last chance to win this war. If this plan failed, Sendak would only have to sit back and wait until Lotor’s people starved. If he had to choose, Keith would prefer to have his throat slit rather than just waste away on an empty belly. He’d spent more than half of his life with hunger gnawing at his insides, he’d rather not go out that way too.

A pang of loss squeezed his heart when they reached his street and he saw that his building had been looted. Every window was broken. Every door had been torn off its hinges. Everything that could be stolen had been and the rest had been thrown into the street. Amongst the debris, Keith thought he recognized his old kitchen table. It reminded him of the times he’d sat around it with Lance and their friends.

The shed behind the building had also been ransacked. For a moment, Keith thought his hoverbike had been stolen until he saw it lying helplessly on its side a few feet away, still partially hidden by an old tarp. With Sven’s help, he pushed it upright and examined it for damages. There were new scratches all over the red paint. Since it was pretty old and pretty much worthless, no parts had been stolen. The missing ones were the ones Keith had removed himself before leaving to join Lotor what felt like eons ago.

While Kuro and Krolia stood guard, Keith and Sven hurriedly put it back together. The removed pieces had been hidden in the cache under the shed’s floor, which had gone undetected during the looting. Sven’s eyes widened when he saw all the bills stashed in there.

Keith grinned at him. “Don’t trust banks,” he said as explanation.

Once the bike was put back together, there was no more reason to linger. Keith looked at it critically, wondering if it would let him down for the first time since he’d had it. Sven clearly knew what he was doing—the bike looked brand new despite it being a mismatched collection of second-hand parts.

“I hope my dad won’t mind if I get it destroyed,” Keith mumbled.

“He wouldn’t, don’t worry,” Sven assured him. “He’d be glad to know it’s being put to such good use.”

“You talk with such confidence, as if you know him. Or knew him.”

Sven remained quiet for a moment, his face closed. “I know you inherited a lot from him, and you’d be happy to know that your bike is being used for a good cause.”

He’d grown used to Sven’s cryptic way of talking. Still, a shiver ran down his spine. Sven sounded so sure of himself that Keith wanted to believe him.

He looked up towards the sky. There was no cloud veiling it. Since the electricity had died down in low town, no light domed the city to hinder his view. Millions of star shone timidly, white against a black background. Keith’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he could imagine himself in the desert with his father, gazing up at the limitless expanse of dark velvet overhead.

Sven’s words sounded all the truer now.

“Let’s go,” he said, voice tight with emotion.

He was about to turned towards the bike when Kuro held him back, one hand around his arm. Keith turned to him after motioning Sven to take a few steps back.

Kuro looked worried. Although he tried to hide it behind a brave façade, Keith saw through it easily. His eyes were sad, his lips pulled into a tight, bloodless line.

“Are you sure I can’t go with you? I don’t trust Sven.”

Keith offered a small smile. “If you tell me you can prepare the explosives and get them into position, sure, you can come.”

Kuro didn’t look amused or sad—he looked annoyed. It was an odd expression on his face, reminding Keith once again that this was not Shiro he was dealing with. Kuro could be possessive at times, mistrusting the men who had some sort of interest in him. Sven was especially a sore subject because they knew literally nothing of him. He was mysterious, withdrawn, cautious, which fostered mistrust in Kuro. Keith had tried explaining to him that Sven was harmless, but it was difficult to come up with the right arguments when he didn’t know _how_ he was so certain of this. It was a gut feeling, nothing more, and it wasn’t enough to satisfy Kuro.

This wasn’t only about Sven however—they both knew this was nearly a suicide mission. They both knew Keith’s chances of coming back alive were slender.

“Maybe I should go in your stead,” Kuro said. “I can ride the hoverbike.”

“I want to do it, Kuro.”

“Why?” Kuro suddenly looked angry. “Why do _you_ have to do it? You don’t have to put your life in danger! You have friends who need you! You have a life waiting for you after the war is over!”

And he didn’t.

Keith understood. Kuro thought he’d become obsolete once the war was over, that Lotor would no longer need him. Keith didn’t think this was true—Lotor’s mother would always worry for her son, it was a mother’s lot after all. Lotor could live on a peaceful planet full of adoring people, she’d still think he needed protecting. Lotor didn’t plan on staying on Earth however and, if he left, he’d surely take Kuro with him at her behest.

The situation was delicate. Keith didn’t know that to say to the other to make him feel better.

“What would I do if something happened to _you_?” Keith retorted.

“You’d have the real Shiro.”

Keith’s eyes widened. “What? That’s—What are you talking about?”

“Keith, I know you don’t love me the way you love him. And I know for a fact that he loves you.”

“He doesn’t!” Keith shot back, suddenly angry. “I confessed to him and he never said anything back! He hasn’t even talked to me since then!”

He hadn’t planned to say it. He’d never admitted this to anyone before. Shame and annoyance flooded him, making his face burn.

“Let’s not fight,” he grumbled, looking away. “Not now. What I feel for Shiro doesn’t matter.”

Kuro looked at him for a long moment in silence before he heaved a sigh. He pulled Keith into a hug, squeezing hard until the tension left both their bodies. Keith returned the embrace, trying to commit to memory everything that was the other man. He wasn’t _in_ love, but damn did he love that bloke nonetheless.

Kuro leaned down and kissed his forehead gently. “I’ll let you go. Just promise me you’ll be careful, all right?”

“I will.” Keith tugged at Kuro’s white forelock. “And we will finish this conversation once I’m back, puppy.”

He got a small smile in answer.

The hoverbike barely made a sound when Keith pressed the ignition button. It hovered a few inches from the ground nearly silently. He looked at it for a moment, emotions threatening to overwhelm him suddenly. The bike reminded him so much of his father and of Shiro—the two most important men in his life. He’d lost his father, then Shiro, and now he could lose that bike too. He felt stupid for being so attached to an old piece of machinery barely worth the time he’d put to keep it together.

If he backed down, it wasn’t only Shiro and his father he’d have lost—he’d lose Lance and Pidge and Hunk and Kuro. Sendak would show them no mercy. He’d kill them for having cooperated with Lotor. Keith couldn’t allow that to happen.

With newfound determination, he straddled the bike.

“Come,” he said, motioning Sven forward.

Sven climbed behind him gingerly, keeping a distance between their two bodies.

Keith threw an exasperated look over his shoulder. “It’ll get rough so hold on properly!”

Sven winced, hesitated for a few seconds before cautiously wrapping his arms around Keith’s middle. He was so tensed Keith feared he might snap at the slightest bump in the ride.

Thanks to the data pad he’d taken a few days earlier, they knew the approximate routes Sendak’s patrols would take. He’d memorized them as best as possible, so now he pictured a map of low town in his mind, trying to find the best way to get out of the city unnoticed. If he timed things correctly, they’d encounter at least one patrol they’d have to dispatch before moving on. Lotor had been very clear: Sendak couldn’t be made aware of their plans. They had to make it out of the city and back without being seen, or they might lose the benefice of surprise once they attacked.

It unsurprisingly took a lot of self-control for him not to race down the streets. Although the bike made hardly any sound, it still felt too loud to his ears. There was some fighting happening in the distance, either looters against looters or Galran troops against looters, and he hoped it would be enough to distract the patrols.

The ride to the outskirts of low town usually took about twenty minutes. Keith judged that, at this cautious speed, they’d make it in an hour. It was maddening. He felt as if the bike underneath him just wanted him to twist the throttle a bit more. He kept himself in check, instead focusing all his senses on what was happening around him.

He followed the narrowest streets possible and it paid off: around one corner, down a narrow lane, he spotted four Galras seated on the ground around a small campfire. They all looked up, startled, when the bike came around the corner. For half a second, Keith hesitated—he couldn’t afford to let them run now that they’d been spotted.

He floored it. The bike bounded forward eagerly and was on the four Galras in the blink of an eye. The collision nearly threw Keith out of the saddle. He almost lost control of the bike as its weight slammed into the Galras. The street was so narrow and the buildings on either side so close that a mere twitch of the handlebars had the bike skidding against a brick façade.

By the time he was in control again, Sven had jumped off to make sure the Galras were dead. Keith stopped the bike, trying to regain control of his breathing. He’d never hit anyone while driving before. Even though those had been enemies, he still felt bad about it—they’d just been standing there innocently, not even armed, while he rammed into them.

He refused to look at the front of the bike to see if there was any blood.

Sven disposed of the wounded Galras easily, uncaringly. He was back on the bike behind Keith in less than a minute, ready to move on. Keith noticed out the corner of his eye that he’d used his own luxite blade. It shone a purplish colour as he put it away again.

“Can it turn into a sword too?” Keith asked distractedly.

“Yes.”

They continued on their way.

It took some manoeuvering and a bit of luck for them to make it to the outskirts of the city without being caught. The darkness helped somewhat. Furthermore, Sendak’s troops didn’t expect to see a hoverbike driving around in the middle of the night. They were somewhat lax, as if they had grown complacent lately. Keith supposed they knew Lotor’s people were running out of food and drinking water—all they had to do was wait until they could pounce on an armed too weakened to fight back.

The border wasn’t patrolled and Keith sped through gleefully. As soon as he was out of the city, he did step on the gas. The bike accelerated smoothly as small particles of sand flew around them. The red desert opened in front of him like the welcoming arms of a lover. Stretching infinitely as far as the eye could see, Keith felt as if he were going home. Above him, the sky looked blacker, the stars brighter. Cold air whipped at his cheeks, tugging at his hair.

He couldn’t repress a grin of pure joy as he angled the bike towards the shack. He was reminded of all those times Shiro and he had ridden down that same road, sometimes together, sometimes each on their own bike. Those had been Keith’s favourite moments. The combination of vast expanse of sand, the open sky, and Shiro’s presence had had a heady feeling, like a drug. Although Keith loved driving on his own, he had liked sitting behind Shiro on his bike, arms wrapped around the other man, feeling utterly safe despite the breakneck speed. When they’d each ridden their own bike, they would race the length and breadth of desert, breathless with laughter, going home tired and dirty and happy.

Keith wondered what Shiro was doing right now. No matter that he’d been busy or that he’d had Kuro with him, Keith hadn’t been able to stop himself from thinking about Shiro. He missed his friend. Maybe he should have called him instead of waiting for an answer. Hell, maybe he should call him now that he was going on a mission that might as well end with his death.

They reached the shack a couple of hours before daybreak. Keith saw it in the distance, a small, mean habitation that was nothing more than a dark smudge against the lightening horizon. His heart swelled at the mere sight of it. He’d thought of putting it to the torch, once, of burning it down alongside the happy memories it came with. He’d never been able to bring himself to do so. He visited once or twice a year, mostly to make sure it hadn’t been razed by a sandstorm. Sturdy despite its shabbiness, it withstood the test of time apparently easily.

Keith parked the bike beside the shack. Sven hopped off first while Keith remained seated for a second longer, taking in his childhood home. Home was a big word for it—it truly was nothing more than a shack, a collection of wood planks nailed together. It had been built by his father’s father, apparently. The man had hated city life and had decided to build himself a dwelling in the middle of the desert. Close enough to the city to be easily supplied, it was still far enough that the lights of Neo-Metropolis appeared to be no more than a small, bright dome on the horizon.

The small veranda at the front of shack was covered in sand. The shutters that covered the windows had taken a battering, one of them hanging only by one nail. The lone tree looked tired, most of its leaves fallen and the rest of them a reddish colour. There used to be a rocking chair on the veranda where Keith’s father would sit during the long summer evenings. Keith had brought it into the small adjacent building that was used as storage so it wouldn’t be blown away.

The nostalgia that settled upon him like a pall felt good, familiar. He indulged in it for a moment, remembering happier times. He didn’t want to go inside, didn’t want to see the old furniture and ratty carpets that had made up his childhood. It didn’t seem right to do so while he could be going to his death. If he were to die, he wanted to remember the place all as it had been then, not as it was now, disused and covered by a thick layer of dust.

Sven went into the storage room. Keith was struck by how at ease he also seemed to be. He wasn’t acting as if he was intruding upon someone else’s property. Keith didn’t know what to think of this—he was normally kind of territorial when it came to this place. Only Shiro had been allowed to see it, and Keith wasn’t certain he would have brought Lance even if he could have. Why was it that made him give Sven so much leeway?

He pushed that thought of his head.

Sven came back out with an armful of what appeared to scraps of metal. Upon closer inspection, Keith saw that those were cylinders of steel. Sven explained that each of those containers was filled with a mixture of explosive materials that could be detonated at a distance. On their own, each cylinder was harmless. It was only when they were paired in the right combination that they became deadly. He fiddled with them for a few moments, fingers sure as if he’d done this a hundred times before.

“If we get out of this alive,” Keith said, “you’ll have to tell me the whole story.”

Sven kept toying with his bombs for a moment. “Fair enough.”

“I’m serious, Sven. I won’t settle for anything but the truth.”

“I know.”

Their eyes met. Sven didn’t look away for once. Just like the rest of them, he’d lost weight over the last few weeks. His high cheekbones and square jaw jutted under thin skin. There were dark circles around his black eyes.

He did look serious about this however. He knew Keith would hold him to it, and he was prepared to answer his questions.

Sven took out his PDA and texted his co-conspirator who lived in upper town, telling them they would soon be in place. The bombs on both sides of the bridge had to be detonated simultaneously for maximum effect. It meant Keith and Sven had to be in perfect sync with those on the other shore.

Once everything was ready, Sven stashed his bombs into a bag that he slung over his shoulder. At Keith’s worried look, Sven assured him that they wouldn’t explode from merely being jostled around.

The easy part was done. Now, they had to sneak back into the town, get to the entry of the tunnel made by the Balmerans, somehow get the bike down it and across miles of dark tunnels, out on the other side, and then set the bombs.

All of that with the utmost stealth.

And Keith wasn’t even being paid for this.


	42. Chapter 42

“So, are your co-conspirators in place?” Keith asked.

They had made it back into the city unscathed. The trip down the tunnel towards the bridge hadn’t been so smooth. Keith examined the bike critically—there were scratches everywhere from when it had scraped against the walls of the tunnels. The fit had been tight, nearly too much at times. Once down into the old metro tunnels, the going had been much smoother. Except that they had taken wrong turns twice and had had to retrace their steps. Keith had nearly panicked the second time: he had no idea what they’d do if they truly got lost down there. The maps plastered on the walls of the metro stations made no sense to him. He easily imagined the both of them drifting disconsolately down here until they died of hunger and thirst, never to be found again.

Thankfully, he’d found the right path again. They were at the exit of the tunnel made by the Balmerans—once they got out, they’d be in enemy territory. Keith had decided to pause for a moment to rest and so they could go over their plan one last time. As he looked up towards the very distant surface, he remembered that Shay and her people had sealed off the hole that lead out. It was covered only by a thin strip of loose earth so they should have no problem going through it. What worried him was getting the bike _up_ the spiraling staircase. It was a tiny bit narrower than the bike was large, which made for unstable ground to ride on. The hoverbike pushed air down to keep itself aloft. If the ground it pushed again was too low—or not there at all—it would simply fall.

Keith was pretty sure he could make it.

Shiro would have made it without breaking a sweat.

While they rested, Sven communicated with his friend from upper town who would set the bombs on their side of the bridge.

When Sven grimaced at something on his PDA, Keith started worrying.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes. He’ll be there. He’s simply taking someone with him I’m not sure should be there.”

“Why?”

“The person insisted he came.” Sven sounded kind of fond as he added: “He can be stubborn at times.”

Keith made a noncommittal noise; he didn’t care how things happened on the other side as long as the bomb went off.

He took a sip of water. His belly was tight with apprehension. This was it. In the next half hour, he’d either tip the war in Lotor’s favour or he’d die trying. He tried telling himself he was ready for death. But he wasn’t. He’d never been. Even at his lowest, living on the streets of low town, drunk and stoned and hungry and cold, he hadn’t wanted to die. Every time, he’d fought back against fate. He defended himself when attacked and stole when he didn’t have the means to pay for food. Things weren’t different now. He’d fight to his last breath for a chance to live.

He was straddling the bike when his PDA vibrated. He took it out of the pouch attached to his belt and saw that Adam had texted him. Keith hesitated—he didn’t want to lose his focus when he needed it the most. What if it was important however?

He read it.

_[Adam] Keith, I’m about to do something quite reckless that might be dangerous. It should be fine. If it’s not though, I want you to know that I love you. You’re the best little brother a man could dream of having. If I make it back in one piece, I’d be thankful if you never mentioned that text again. Take care of yourself._

Keith stared at the screen, aghast. He had to reread the whole thing a couple of times for the words to start making sense.

Before he had time to call Adam and ask him what this meant, Sven took the PDA out of his hand. Keith glared at the man.

“What the fuck are you doing?! Give it back!”

“No. He’s busy, don’t call him.”

Something snapped in Keith’s brain. He grabbed Sven by the front of his jacket and slammed him hard against the nearest wall.

“You better fucking explain or I swear I’ll tear you limb from limb!” Keith snarled into his face.

Sven’s eyes had widened, the only outward sign that he hadn’t expected this. He looked away, gritting his teeth, debating. Keith tightened his grip until his knuckles went white. He was getting so bloody tired of all these secrets. Everybody always seemed to know so damn much, refusing to tell him anything and being cryptic about stuff that they knew he cared about.

Finally, Sven gently grabbed his wrists to loosen his grip on his shirt. “I know Adam,” he said quietly. “He’s with the friend who’ll be setting the bomb on the north side. I’ve known him for a while.”

“W-what?”

Sven sighed. “Keith, we don’t have much time. Are you sure you want to be doing this now?”

Fuck yes he wanted to do this right now, but he knew they couldn’t. They didn’t have the time and he was afraid that whatever Sven said would linger at the back of his mind. It would stop him from concentrating on the task at hand. With a huff of annoyance, he let go of Sven’s shirt.

Turning away from the other man, he texted Adam back.

_[Keith] You really think I’ll let you live this down? Put the damn bomb in place, Adam, and do it right. I’ll take care of this side of the bridge._

He turned the PDA off and put it away.

-

Things went according to the plan for a huge thirty seconds. Then, shit hit the fan. They got the bike up and out of the tunnel without mishap. Once in the alley, they went unnoticed for as long as it took Sven to blow up one of the walls that sealed it. It had been stupid, but there had been no other choice.

The confusion brought by the small explosion gave them a few seconds before the nearby patrols came to investigate the noise.

Keith’s part in this was to drive. Sven had assured him he’d take care of any pursuit, taking out a huge gun as he said so. Keith hadn’t asked any questions—he wouldn’t have any answers anyway and he trusted Sven enough to know he’d do his part of the job. So he focused on his own and drove.

The empty streets made things easier. As soon as they were out of the small alley and onto the road that bordered the river, Keith floored it. The bike bounded forward eagerly. He found no pleasure in the speed this time.

Soon enough, he heard the rumbling of engines at his back. Glancing quickly over his shoulder, he spotted half a dozen hoverbikes in hot pursuit. The Galras were scrambling to catch up, clearly taken aback by their sudden arrival. Sven fired and one of the Galras fell out of their seat, their now-riderless bike crashing to the ground.

Keith turned his attention back driving. They were perhaps half a mile from their target. The bridge loomed huge overhead, yet he felt as if they weren’t getting close nearly fast enough.

A Galra hoverbike appeared to his left. It tried ramming them, but Keith jerked the bike out of reach at the last second. The bike shuddered beneath him, not liking the rough manoeuvering. Keith swore loudly as another Galra seemed to materialise to his right. Either they were communicating or they were used to this, they both tried to ram him on either side. He threw the brake hard. The movement threw him forward and nearly out of his seat. Sven crashed against his back painfully hard. The bike spun in a half circle as he almost lost control of it. Blindly, hair whipping in his eyes, he twisted the throttle, righting it half a second before it hit the side of some building.

Shots rang out, but Keith had no time to see what Sven was doing. He turned the bike towards the bridge again. He’d lost precious seconds and it seemed to take forever before the bike was up to its top speed again. Their pursuers were on their tail again, much closer than before. Keith saw that the two he’d tried ramming him had rammed each other instead—the two bikes had crashed together at great speed and were lying on the side of the road in a tangle of broken metal and broken limbs.

Five hoverbikes came roaring out of a side street a dozen feet in front of Keith. His eyes widened and he resisted the urge to brake or swerve. Instead, he twisted the throttle more, leaning forward. Wind whipped past his face. He could hardly breathe. The bike hummed contently beneath him. It was exhilarating and terrifying. If he didn’t move, he’d crash into one of the oncoming bikes. They were getting so close he saw the face of the nearest rider. He didn’t make way, didn’t move.

The others did. They all swerved madly away from him to avoid a collision. Keith let out a shout of both relief and triumph. His heart beat so fast inside his chest he was sure it’d break a rib.

Then one bike did collide with his. It clipped the rear fender. The bike skidded sideways before hitting some obstacle. Metal screeched against metal. Keith felt a blinding pain in his right leg. Terror engulfed him for half a second before he used the pain to keep his mind clear. With a yell, he righted the bike.

The rider that had just collided with him tried to hit him with a baton. Keith ducked to dodge. The bike shuddered beneath him as it trained to regain speed. There was a clanking noise coming from the back. Keith smelt burnt metal.

He took his dagger out of its sheath. It instantly turned into a sword that he slashed at the other rider. The Galra blocked it and, while baton and sword were interlocked, kicked at Keith. The boot hit him on the knee, but the adrenaline hid any pain that followed. Keith twisted the sword and slashed it again.

Too many things were happening at the same time. Keith tried to fight off the Galra while driving and making sure they didn’t crash into anything. He had no idea what Sven was doing—he felt him move, his weight tugging the bike this way and that in an unreadable pattern. Gunshots resounded above the sound of the engines.

And the bridge was getting closer. Swearing, Keith slashed desperately at the Galra. His sword clipped the other rider’s arm and the baton dropped.

The bike hit something and Keith was suddenly airborne. The grey sky became the grey pavement and he hit shoulder first. He rolled to bleed off speed, turning the sword away from his body so it wouldn’t skewer him. His limbs were flung every which way. His forehead slammed against a hard object. He skidded to a halt. He opened his eyes just in time to see his own bike rushing up towards him, rolling madly on the ground. He threw himself out of his harm’s way. The bike hit the pavement in a shower of red sparks. It ended its course by smashing into the pier of the bridge. Parts exploded every which way.

Keith watched in horror. Sven. Fuck, where was Sven?!

He got to his feet, body screaming in protest at the rude treatment. His vision darkened around the edges. For a moment, he was sure he’d faint until the world came back into focus. He saw Sven a few feet away—the man was getting up slowly, visibly shaken too. Keith thought of the bombs he’d stashed away in a bag and was thankful they hadn’t exploded on impact.

Down the road, three bikes were baring down on them. Keith rejoined Sven. His legs were wobbly and he was pretty sure he looked as bad as the other man who was covered in scratches.

“We need a bike,” Sven announced. “Let’s take one.”

Easier said than done.

Keith stepped into the path of one of the oncoming bikes. The rider’s eyes widened behind their goggles. They slowed the bike—as Keith had expected, they had orders to bring the two intruders in alive, not kill them. He had to time this perfectly if he wanted his half-formed plan to work.

Just as the bike was about to hit him, he sidestepped while extending his left arm. He grabbed the rider’s arm and, as the bike slowed down further, he pulled himself behind the rider in one smooth move. He didn’t have time to be impressed with himself—he grabbed the guy in front of him around the neck and slit his throat. He pushed the dead body off the bike and seized the handlebars.

By the time he was in control, Sven had dispatched the other riders. They were the only two left on their feet for the moment. Keith took a second to catch his breath, letting the adrenaline settle a little bit. He heard the sound of a distant siren and guessed it was the alarm to signal intruders. They had to hurry before the reinforcements were on them.

Sven joined him on the bike and they made towards the pier of the bridge. The ruins of Keith’s bike still smoked, a pathetic knot of twisted red metal. Keith spared it a look—it had served him and his father well over the past years. Still, its destruction felt like Keith’s childhood had truly been ended.

They made it to the pier without trouble. Looking over his shoulder, Keith saw more bikes and other kind of vehicles getting closer. They had less than a minute to set the explosives and get the hell out of here.

The pier was a huge pillar a stone jutting from the frozen waters of the river. Seeing from up close, it was pitted and had been gnawed at by the relentless coming and going of the tides. Above their heads, Unification Bridge loomed like a huge, black shadow. Keith had never seen this section of the bridge from this close. To approach the pier, he had to take the bike off the road, down the pebbled shore and over the shallows. In summer, he’d have water lapping at his knees. With the terribly cold weather they’d been having, the water had been frozen solid for weeks now. The hoverbike had no trouble rider over the ice so Keith was able to bring Sven close to the pier.

He angled the bike so he could keep an eye on the upcoming troops. Sven stood up on the seat and began fiddling with the bombs. Keith didn’t look at what he was doing. Sweat ran down his face. His body shook from both the adrenaline receding and the cold. He tried to number the reinforcements coming their way: fifty bikes at least and twice more soldiers on foot. Dressed in black armour, they looked like an oil spill making their way towards them.

They were coming from both sides now. Keith’s heart sank. As far as he could see, every exit was being methodically cut off. The one he’d spotted for their retreat had been overtaken by a bunch of Galras. He supposed they could merely ram into the bunch and hope for the best, but he wasn’t naïve enough to believe it would be enough.

“Hurry, Sven,” he mumbled.

“Ten seconds.”

“You have five.”

Keith tightened his grip on the handlebars. He heard a clicking sound as Sven finally affixed the cylinders of explosives on the stone of the pier. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw a tiny green light blinking on the bomb. He didn’t know whether this was a good sign or not. Sven’s face was white as he worked. He too sweated, black hair sticking to his face. Keith noticed a smudge of shiny liquid on his arm and another one on his thigh. Was this blood?

A shot resounded, making them both winced. To Keith’s horror, he realised the shot wasn’t coming from the shore but from the island. It was a blaster shot that had left a burnt trace on the pier.

“Sven! Get down!”

Another shot, then another. Sven kept tinkering with the bomb. He said something when a bright streak of light hit him. Blood splattered across the bomb. He titled crazily to one side. Keith reached, trying to grab him before he fell over. Just as he was doing so, something rammed into the bike, pushing them away from the pier. It somehow helped because it made Sven fall over Keith rather than off the bike. Keith grabbed him clumsily and put the bike into reverse. The momentum of the hit coupled with him flooring it pulled the bike away from the pier.

Towards the centre of the river.

“Sven! Fuck! The bomb!”

Whatever had hit Sven hadn’t killed him. He pulled himself up painfully and rummaged in his pocket. Keith felt him move because he didn’t have to look back at what he was doing. The other bikes were in pursuit over the frozen river. Keith shifted gears and leaned hard on the right so the bike would turn the right way. He had absolutely no idea what would happen once the ice ran out and the bike hovered water. He’d never tried this.

“Brace yourself,” Sven mumbled in a weak voice.

Twin explosions rocked the world. First, the world went white, then red. Half a second later, the air exploded. Keith felt the deflagration down through to his bones. The bridge, a few feet above their head to the left, seemed to jump from its foundations. The air vibrated madly as a sundering sound filled everything. Keith had no idea what was happening. He couldn’t stop himself from looking up at the bridge. Twin tornados of fire had blossomed on both sides of it.

The concussion of the explosions hit the water. Ice splintered with a groan. Pieces of debris began to fall from the large construction. Keith managed to avoid one falling piece of concrete, then a second. He wanted to turn the bike around, back towards the shore, but his body was frozen in terror.

A large shard of stone fell not too far from the bike, tearing into the ice and splashing freezing water all over them. Keith shouted in dismay as a huge piece of metal fell across the ice just in front of the bike. He braked but there was no stopping in time. The bike hit the piece of metal. Keith and Sven went sent flying straight into the moving, freezing water of the river.


	43. Chapter 43

Keith didn’t know how to swim. And why should he? He’d never been in anything bigger than a bath.

Hitting the cold water felt like a slap. His body was pulled immediately to the left. He fought against the current, trying to claw his way to the surface. Debris kept falling all around him. Even underwater, he could still hear the fracas of the falling bridge.

His head popped out of the water long enough to allow him to take a breath. His lungs filled and he was then pulled under anew. The cold was numbing. Already he had lost feeling in his fingers and toes, the suit doing little to protect him—it wasn’t watertight anyway. He reached the surface a second time and managed to take two breaths of cold air. He shook his head, trying to whip the wet hair away from his eyes.

Paddling madly, he looked around to get his bearings. The current seemingly brought him closer to the island. The sky overhead was lit a bright orange light as both extremities of the bridge burned merrily. At least their mad plan had worked.

He wanted to look for Sven, but he was pulled under again. Icy water closed over his head. His lungs burned. His whole body was starting to feel numb. He kept moving his limbs, knowing he had to get out of here before hypothermia settled. He hit the surface again, still closer to the island. Huge debris fell all around him. He coughed, his mouth tasting like dirty river water.

“Sven!” he shouted uselessly.

Sven had been shot. He could be bleeding his life away in the river and Keith could do nothing to help him. Rage suffused him, hot enough to warm him momentarily. A wave hit him in the face, leaving him spluttering. He threaded water, looking around. He nearly went under again. He inhaled water, which made him cough violently. He was tiring. His limbs barely obeyed him. His fingers and toes were nothing more than chips of ice, totally useless.

He wanted to cry in frustration. The bridge was collapsing—they’d done it. He’d known this was a dangerous mission. He’d accepted the risk, yet he still was angry at the thought of dying. And he was angry that Sven could die too.

He went under as a wave hit him from behind. The water almost felt warm now. He floated aimlessly, letting the current take him as it pleased. Debris kept splashing all around him. He couldn’t quite bring himself to care at the moment. It was peaceful down here, grey and calm and soothing. Every ache had faded to a distant memory.

He pulled to the surface, his pleasantly numb mind thawing just enough to leave him horrified. He didn’t want to die like that, not without a fight. Gritting his teeth, he set his sight upon the shore of the island and began paddling. It was graceless, it was probably ridiculous, but he moved his arms and legs. It hurt. His limbs felt too heavy to be useful. His heavy boots wanted to drag him to the bottom. He resisted the pull, swearing loudly.

On the shore of the island, he saw movement—Sendak was probably massing his troops, ready to face whatever threat had been bold enough to destroy his bridge. Keith wanted to laugh—yeah, Sendak was sure to consider him a threat if he managed to pull himself out of the water. At the moment, Keith didn’t care. He just couldn’t lie down passively while hypothermia overtook him. He’d deal with capture if it came down to it.

He found it quite ironical that the island he’d so detested as a teenager could be his salvation.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and he screamed in fright. Water choose that moment to close over his head, rushing into his mouth. He started coughing while underwater, all of his air leaving him in a cascade of bubbles. Dread seized him as he clamped his mouth shut. His lungs heaved, wanting to expel the foreign liquid. He clawed for the surface, limbs stupid with cold. The bright light that danced just overhead seemed impossibly far. Keith was so tired. He was exhausted. He had nothing left.

Frustrated that even his own body was conspiring against him, he pulled onto the last of his reserves. He breached the surface again, gulping in air.

“Dad!”

Surprised to hear a voice that wasn’t his, Keith turned to see Sven a few feet from him, waving madly. Keith nearly sank in relief when he saw him. Keith paddled to him, buffeted by the waves. The bridge behind him groaned in an agony of twisting metal and splitting concrete.

Keith had no breath left to talk. He nodded towards the island and Sven nodded back. His face was chalky white and the water around him was pinkish.

He focused all of his willpower upon the shore. Keith pictured himself reaching it, pictured himself pulling himself out of the water. There was a crust of ice ringing the island and he hoped it would be sturdy enough to support their weight.

For the longest time, it felt as if the shore was receding. The current tugged them inexorably to the left. Soon, it was no longer low town at their back, but the crumbling bridge. Keith noted absent-mindedly that it hadn’t quite crashed down into the water—both support piers nearest the shores had collapsed. The decking over them had crumbled, leaving huge gaping holes.

Keith’s hand struck a hard patch of ice hard enough to bring him out of his reverie. A crust of ice extended in front of him. When he looked around, he saw that they’d been dragged almost to the other side of the island, to the part that faced upper town. Panting, relieved, Keith latched himself to the ice. He was still cold and wet and he still could die of hypothermia, but at least he wasn’t being tugged away by the current. He extended a hand to Sven who grasped it. For a few seconds, they just panted while clutching the ice. They were perhaps fifty feet from the island shore. There was no action in this area for the moment.

“Come on,” he mumbled through numb limbs.

Heaving himself out of the water and onto the ice proved difficult. He had no purchase on the slippery surface no matter how hard he dug his fingers into it. Tiredly, Sven grabbed him by the back of belt and helped. The ice groaned beneath his weight. Keith waited a second, sure that it would crack beneath him. When it didn’t, he helped Sven onto it too.

“We’re almost there,” Keith said. “Come on.”

They crawled cautiously towards the shore. The back of Keith’s neck prickled. They were utterly exposed like this. Anyone on the island could see them approaching—two dark-clad figures against the pale ice. He kept expecting a Galra to appear out of nowhere to shoot them. Whatever was happening elsewhere seemed to be keeping them busy however.

Out the corner of his eye, Keith saw there was some action on the north shore too. He couldn’t tell what was happening, only that there was a large, dark shape moving towards the island. That couldn’t be reinforcements, right?

It didn’t matter. He had to reach shore. He’d deal with the next problem afterward.

The cold ice seemed to burn through his suit. His wet hair had frozen into clumps. He shivered violently, teeth chattering loudly. There was little purchase on the ice so he kept slipping. Even crawling was difficult. When he looked at Sven, he saw that a trail of blood followed him. They had to reach the shore and stanch the blood or the guy would die.

“Come on, Sven, we’re almost there.”

Sven’s voice came as a whisper, but Keith was pretty sure he caught the word _dad_. Again. Hadn’t Sven said that too when he’d been in the water? Keith’s mind latched into this oddity rather than focusing on the encroaching cold in his limbs. Maybe Sven was missing his father? Not that Keith didn’t understand—his dad had been dead for fourteen years and he still missed him every day.

The ice groaned ominously. Keith froze, willing himself to weigh as little as possible. Looking down, he saw that the ice here was pretty thin—thin enough that he could see the swirling water passing beneath. It had been much thicker on the shore of low town.

Just as he was remembering that school kid who’d nearly drowned, the ice cracked. Sven yelped. Keith turned just in time to see the man disappear into a hole that had just opened beneath him.

Nononono! They were almost to the shore! They’d almost made it! Another thirty seconds and they’d been safe!

Swearing loudly, Keith crawled towards the hole. The ice shifted uneasily beneath his weight. Sven was trying to grab upon the ragged edges of the hole. He had no purchase and he was growing weak with blood loss and cold.

A whimper left Keith’s mouth as he extended his hand to grab Sven. His body screamed at him to save himself, to stop being stupid and get to shore where he had a chance to survive. He refused to listen—not until he’d done everything to save Sven.

He took a hold of Sven’s wrist. The second Sven pulled to heave himself out of the water, Keith’s body slid on the ice. He tried digging his toes in without much success. Gritting his teeth, he used his free hand to take his dagger out. He planted it into the ice and braced against it to heave. A crack appeared around the blade. Water seeped into it, seemingly rushing eagerly towards Keith.

Sven pulled himself free of Keith’s hold. “Don’t be daft. Go!”

“What?! No! Give me your hand, Sven!”

Another crack appeared. Keith’s heart was in his throat.

“No, go! I’m not watching you die again!”

“Fuck you and your cryptic words! Give me your hand!” Keith screamed.

The ice split beneath the blade and it nearly fell into the water from Keith’s nerveless fingers. His heavy limbs were difficult to move. He yelled at Sven to grab his hand, but the bloody idiot refused. At the back of his mind, Keith knew that Sven was being the smart one: pulling him out of the water could easily tip both of them into the hole or their combined weight could crack the ice, which would end, again, with them into the water. Still, Keith refused to abandon him.

Another crack appeared beneath Keith’s body. He wriggled away, not letting go of his hold on the knife. It was the only thing keeping him from slipping straight into the hole next to Sven.

“Sven,” Keith grumbled through gritted teeth. “Don’t make me get you! Give me your fucking hand!”

He lunged for the man and managed to grab a fistful of his wet shirt. Keith heaved, the muscles in his arms and torso quivering with the weight. He could no longer feel his fingers. He had to keep his eyes on the hand wrapped around the hilt of his dagger to be sure it didn’t betray him by letting go. For a second, he thought he would make it: Sven was actually helping rather than hindering and the ice seemed to have settled uneasily. Keith wasn’t like Lance’s family, he didn’t believe in a higher power. If that higher power did exist however, now would be the perfect time to manifest itself by lending him some strength.

The ice cracked beneath Sven was he was trying to pull himself out of the water. His body plunged back, tugging Keith after when he refused to let go. This was it—if he fell back, Keith was sure he wouldn’t have the strength to pull himself out again. He yelled as he pulled with all of his strength, digging his heels uselessly. The knife once again nearly slipped from his nerveless fingers—Keith didn’t care about losing it if it meant he could save Sven’s life.

Another crack. Keith found himself half submerged as the piece of ice he’d been lying on dipped. He spluttered, coughing water. Sven’s body was impossibly heavy, as if he’d fainted or perhaps gone into shock. Keith couldn’t see with his wet hair hanging over his eyes. He’d lost feelings in his limbs so he had no idea whether he was still grasping the knife and Sven. He remained still for a moment, trying to catch his breath. The only thing warm in his body was the fire in his lungs.

Far in the distance, as if in another world, there came the rumbling sound of a part of the bridge collapsing. Something huge splashed into the water. It sent a ripple all the way to Keith who felt it like a slap. He couldn’t keep his eyes open any more. His eyeballs felt frozen. There were tiny icicles in his eyelashes. There was a kind of beauty to the clear, moving water, he thought disjointedly.

There was a pull on his left arm. His fingers were slipping from the hilt of the dagger. If he let go, he knew, he’d drift into the water, forever this time. Perhaps it would be better to just let go—Sven kind of looked peaceful as he floated unconscious, didn’t he?

A tiny part of Keith’s mind rebelled against this thought. No, no! He still had some strength left! He could still do it if only he tried harder!

He opened his eyes blearily. Turned his head towards the sky. It was covered with thick clouds. He wanted to see the stars. He wished he could die beneath the stars. Maybe his father was up there, watching down on him?

An alarm started ringing in what was left of his consciousness—he was hearing sounds he should recognise as voices coming nearer. Shit, was that Sendak’s men coming to grab them? He almost wanted them to do it; it would be easier to fight back for Sven and him if they weren’t drowning.

A hand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. It pulled him back, trying to get him away from the hole in the ice. Keith couldn’t fight back, not with both hands occupied. He kept his grip on Sven, hoping that perhaps whoever was pulling at him would manage to get them both out of harm’s way.

“What are you doing, Keith?! Let him go! He’s dead!”

A jolt ran down his spine. He had to be dead because he was hearing Adam, of all people, shouting at him. He blinked furiously, shaking his head to try and see through wet tendrils of hair.

Another pair of hands joined the first and Keith couldn’t fight against the pull any longer. He was tugged away from the hole, Sven’s limp, wet form dragging behind him.

The ice cracked again—there were too many people standing on the thin crust. They’d all plunge to their watery grave.

Keith couldn’t bring himself to care. He blacked out for a moment, body shaking violently. Somehow, he never let go of either Sven or his dagger. Arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him up, helping him. He mumbled that standing up on ice was stupid before he realised there was solid ground beneath him. His legs couldn’t carry him. He slumped against whoever was holding him up, soaking them with freezing river water.

He was more or less dragged for what felt like forever until he was put down. Heat assaulted him, such a contrast with the cold that had been his lot that he cringed back.

When his hair was pushed from his eyes, he finally saw the person kneeling over him. Blurry features firmed into the familiar image of Adam. Pale face, eyes huge behind fogging glasses, it was definitely the guy Keith had pretended to hate in his youth.

“Sven—” Keith mumbled.

“He’s fine, Takashi’s with him.”

“The Galras—Sendak—”

“They can’t find us here. You’re safe. Let me help you out of these drenched clothes.”

Keith didn’t have the strength to resist or to help. Adam did quick work of his bodysuit and armour, seemingly used to this kind of garments. Thousands of questions ran through Keith’s mind, the foremost being _why the hell are you here?_ He’d asked them if he weren’t feeling so woozy.

Once the suit had been removed, Adam took off his jacket and wrapped it around Keith’s shivering body. By then the numbness was abating enough for him to take in his surroundings. They were in what appeared to be a sort of cave. There was a large fire burning in the middle, its orange glow providing light and heat. On one side was a bunch of metal boxes of all sizes and other assortments of objects Keith couldn’t identify.

What he cared about was Sven however. Keith saw that he was lying on the ground, wrapped in a thick blanket. Above him hovered some weird-looking alien Keith had never seen before, and Shiro.

Shiro.

“W-w-what—” Keith said, trying to stop his teeth from chattering long enough to ask a question.

Adam sighed from beside him. “It’s a long story.”

Hearing his voice, the alien looked up. It was shaped like a huge worm with at least eight arms, huge eyes, and what appeared to be a beak on its grey face.

“Ah, Keith!” it exclaimed when it saw him looking. “Tell me, what did you have for breakfast?! It’s vitally important! The fate of Earth rests on your answer!”

“What the hell,” Keith mumbled.

Adam groaned. “This is Slav. You might remember Takashi mentioning him once in a while. He’s a co-worker. Long story short, he is the one who made the bombs and planted them on the north side of the bridge.” He paused. “He is a friend of Sven’s.”

“Breakfast, Keith!” the bloke called Slav yelled.

“N-nothing! I had nothing for breakfast!” Keith replied, cringing away when Slav nearly jumped into his face.

“Oh. Oh, that’s fine, then. If you had nothing for breakfast, this means it’s the reality where we have 0,098% chance of succeeding.”

“Don’t ask,” Adam said at Keith’s questioning look. “He’s an eccentric, but he knows what he’s talking about. We’re safe here thanks to him. He’s the one who built this place. It’s untraceable.”

“It’s just a cave,” Keith said with a frown.

And Slav, apparently insulted, launched himself into a lengthy explanation about how this isn’t just a cave and it’s a pocket of wrapped-reality that is—

Keith turned him out, totally at a loss.

“Why are _you_ here?” he asked Adam instead.

Adam took off his glasses to wipe them on his shirt. “Because Takashi is an idiot and he couldn’t do it on his own.”

“Adam, it’s dangerous!” Keith hissed. “If Sendak finds you here, he’ll kill you!”

“And what do you think he’ll do to you if he finds _you_ here?”

“I know he’ll kill me, but I’m prepared for it! Damn it, I have to go back. Give me back my armour. I need to tell Lotor we succeeded—”

Adam pushed him back down when he tried to get up. “No. You sit there and warm yourself up. Prince Lotor knows. His troops will be here eventually.”

Keith blinked. Surely he had heard wrong. It made sense that Lotor would know the bridge had collapsed, but why would he bring his troops here? It hadn’t been part of the plan.

Or perhaps it had and Lotor hadn’t told Keith in case he got captured. He couldn’t reveal what he didn’t know, could he? That was pure madness—how was he going to get his men across? The bridge was destroyed!

“If he’s coming, I have to be ready to fight,” Keith said. He pointed towards his suit that had been laid on the ground beside the fire to dry. “Give it to me.”

Adam quirked an eyebrow at him. “No. I’m not letting you out of here until you’re warm and your clothes are dry. Don’t scowl at me, you won’t change my mind.”

“This is not a joke, Adam! It’s war! Lotor counts on me!”

“I’m quite sure the prince can survive without you for another half hour.”

“Don’t worry, Keith,” Slav piped in. “I’m quite sure this isn’t the reality where Commander Sendak blows up the island to win!”

This was madness. Keith looked at them all, disbelieving. It was too much. It had to be a joke. He was probably still dying in the cold water and this was his brain acting up one last time.

He decided to focus on one thing at the time before it all drove him crazy. Though still cold, he was all right, but Sven had yet to regain consciousness. Wincing as he forced his limbs to obey him, Keith dragged himself closer to Sven. Slav and Shiro had done a good job at bandaging him up. They’d stopped the flow of blood with some thick poultice. They’d also wrapped a blanket around him to try to warm him up. His lips were still worryingly pale however as was his face.

Keith knelt beside him and touched his cold cheek. His chest rose and fell as he breathed laboriously. He’d been ready to let himself die so Keith had a chance to survive. Why had the idiot done that? They barely knew each other—he had no reason to behave in such a selfless way, especially not to Keith who’d been an ass to him from the start.

Gingerly, he cupped Sven’s head and rested it on his thighs, hoping his body heat would help warm him. The tiny icicles that had formed in his hair were melting, making Keith shiver.

When he looked up, he saw three pairs of eyes looking at him pityingly.

“What?” he barked. “He’s not going to die, not on my watch!”

“He won’t die,” Slav said, voice subdued for once. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Keith grunted in approval.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw Shiro seated just beside him. Keith had been so worried about Sven that he barely had a second to spare for him. His heart started beating faster in his chest and the warmth that suffused his cheeks was unwelcomed. He hadn’t seen Shiro or heard of him in weeks. Keith felt weird, knowing he’d been sleeping with Shiro’s _clone_ all this time. Kuro had said that Shiro had feelings for him too, but he wasn’t sure whether he believed it. He didn’t know what to make of this mess, only that it wasn’t the time to try to fix his romantic life.

“Are you okay?” Shiro asked him quietly

The voice sent a shiver down Keith’s spine. It sounded so much like Kuro’s, yet there were tiny differences, some subtleties that made it clear he was speaking with Shiro and not with Kuro.

He kept his eyes averted and his head lowered so his hair hid his face. “Yeah.”

He didn’t mean to be cold to Shiro, he just didn’t know how to act. A part of himself wanting to throw himself into Shiro’s arms, hug him, apologize for messing up their friendship. The other part still smarted from Shiro’s silence ever since his confession. He didn’t want to dwell on all that for the moment, not when two armies might be soon clashing nearby.

He could tell Shiro wanted to talk more. His body language was tense, his jaw set. Just like Keith however, he knew this wasn’t the time.

After a while, tingles began to run up Keith’s limbs. His toes and fingers were finally thawing, leaving behind a burning sensation. He was suddenly hot, cheeks aflame. His hair was beginning to dry, curling messily around his face. With the thawing of his limbs came the wakening sensation of all the bruises he’d acquired over the last twenty-four hours. In all the mad excitement of getting the bombs to the bridge, he hadn’t felt any blow. Now however, he saw that his skin was turning black and blue in some places. Thankfully, the bodysuit and armour had protected him from the worst of it all. He was just battered, which seemed to have become his permanent state of being ever since he joined Lotor.

Some colours came back to Sven’s face too. He remained unconscious nonetheless. His breathing deepened without a hitch. The poultice had hardened inside his wounds, effectively stemming the blood. He would live, miraculously.

“It’s time I go,” Keith declared, turning towards the others.

While Slav didn’t look to care much, Adam and Shiro looked ready to argue against it.

Making sure Sven was comfortable, Keith got to his feet. He wobbled for a second as exhaustion settled on his shoulders. Shiro was up and bracing him with a hand on his shoulder before Keith had time to blink.

“Sit down. Eat something before you go,” Shiro urged him gently. “You said so yourself you had nothing for breakfast.”

A protein bar was shoved into his hand before he had time to protest. This was ridiculous, he wanted to shout as he ate ravenously. Now wasn’t the time to be having dinner! He fretted, wondering what Lotor was doing and if he was truly going to attack Sendak’s base of operations. He looked at the cave where they were—it did feel slightly surreal. The walls were somewhat blurry and, when he looked towards the opening, it felt as if he were looking through water. Slav explained impatiently that he’d created a device that could _bend_ realities a little. As it stood, he had enfolded their little hideout in a layer of a different reality, which meant they couldn’t be found by anyone or any kind of machinery. Keith’s mind reeled from this. It hardly made sense, though Adam confirmed it was all true.

It changed nothing.

When he went to take his suit, nobody tried to stop him. It had dried completely.

Adam forced Shiro out of his jacket and used it to primly shield Keith while he changed. Keith barely noticed and wouldn’t have commented if he hadn’t noticed the clothes Shiro had worn under his jacket.

“Oh, no, you’re not coming with me.” Keith breathed. Shiro was dressed for action, wearing the police riot gear as it was second skin to him. “Adam, tell him!”

Adam shrugged. “You think I didn’t try to change his mind? He won’t listen, for once, the damn fool.”

Shiro offered them both a weak grin. “I’m sorry. I really have to do this.”

Understanding dawned on Keith. He remembered what Lotor had told him about the two years Shiro had been in captivity, how he’d been made to fight for Emperor Zarkon as a gladiator. He wanted some sort of revenge for his own peace of mind.

He looked at Shiro with a newfound respect. His heart thudded at the sight of his friend. They were walking into this together, he realised. They would be facing Sendak and his army together, side by side. He both wanted and feared the prospect. What if Shiro got hurt, what if he got killed? He was sick, he was nearing his decline. Perhaps this would be too much for him. What if that was what tipped him over the edge?

Telling him to stay behind wouldn’t be fair. Keith wouldn’t accept being told to stay behind and Shiro wouldn’t either, not when it mattered this much to him. It was easy to forget that Shiro could be damn stubborn when he wanted—needed—to be. Only a hard-headed man would have made it to thirty with that disease eating away at his muscles.

“Okay,” Keith said, tilting his chin. “We’ll do this together, Shiro.” He turned towards Adam and Slav. “Take care of Sven while I’m gone, all right?”

“We’ll take care of the boy, don’t worry,” Adam assured him, face serious.

“Keith! Make sure not to slip on the third rock from the bottom left corner of the cliff! Otherwise, it might decrease our chances of succeeding by a dramatic 0.003%!” Slav exclaimed, sounding more than anxious. He wrung his numerous hands together. “Urgh, or is it the second rock? I’m no longer sure!”

“Just let us out, Slav!” Shiro barked impatiently. “I’m already wearing the green socks you told me to wear!”

“But are they the mint-green socks and not the seafoam-green socks?!”

“Slav!”

The worm-shaped alien squealed in fright, went to the pile of boxes, fiddled with them, and suddenly the illusion of a cave dropped from around them. Like a screen being lowered, Keith saw the landscape of the school island appear. They were suddenly utterly exposed on the rocky beach, not too far from where Keith and Sven had been saved from the freezing water.

“Takashi,” Adam barked. “Bring back my little brother safely, will you?”

Shiro chuckled before nodding. “I promise. You know I never could refuse you anything, Adam.”

With that, Shiro tugged on Keith’s arm and they took a few steps away. When Keith turned to look over his shoulder, the cloaking was back in place. It was as if nothing had ever been there—no human, no fire, nothing.


	44. Chapter 44

They didn’t have time to discuss. They were out in the open, clearly visible to anyone looking in their direction.

But nobody would be looking in their direction because all eyes were surely riveted towards low town. Keith stared too as the ground began to shake all around. The water in the river jumped in small geysers as if it were boiling from beneath. From here Keith could see a huge crowd on the south shore. Despite the distance, he easily spotted the gleaming white hair of Lotor as he stood at the front of his amassed army. People milled around him. The ground shook anew.

Then, in front of Keith’s very eyes, the water of the river parted. He gaped as a corridor appeared, going from the south shore to the island in a straight, broad line. He couldn’t see everything from that angle, but he was pretty sure this had to be the work of the Balmerans. They’d probably raised the ground of the riverbed to push away the water, therefore creating a pathway for Lotor.

It was brilliant.

It was fucking stupid because Lotor was massing his whole army into one position. They were sitting ducks, waiting to be shot down. Had the prince forgotten? Blasters worked on the island.

As if to confirm this, one large blast fired towards low town.

Keith turned his attention to their own situation. They were on the rocky beach of the island. The place was familiar from his schooldays as a teenager. Since the school had been abandoned a few years ago, there was an air of decrepitude about it that hadn’t been there then. The winter grass, though grey and brittle, was too long. The bushes had turned into a tangle of branches with yellowed leaves. The pebbled pathways were overgrown. The school itself, a tall, square-shaped building, was slowly being covered with moss. The humid air had twisted the wooden parts of the construction. Bricks had fallen while the mortar had turned to dirt in some place. What windows hadn’t been placarded had long since been broken.

On top the roof stood a large canon, not unlike the type of ion canon that were mounted on Galra battlecruisers. It pointed in the direction of low town.

It took a second for Keith to understand what he was seeing. A canon atop the rooftop of his school was so weird it hardly made sense.

The canon fired again with a mighty booming sound. Keith felt the concussion deep into his bones. The sky turned bright red and then something exploded on the other shore.

“Let’s get rid of this thing,” Shiro said, nodding grimly towards the canon. “You know the grounds, I’ll follow you.”

Keith swallowed as he tried to get his bearings. Hell, he hadn’t been here for almost a decade. He suddenly couldn’t remember anything of the lay of the land. He couldn’t stop thinking about the canon firing on his friends. Had Lotor been hit? Had Kuro? Surely, surely, Lance wouldn’t be amongst the army marching towards the island, right?

“Keith, it’s all right.”

Shiro’s voice pulled him from his worries. He rested a comforting hand on his shoulder, grounding him. For half a second, Keith basked in the familiarity of the gesture. He allowed it to calm him, to help him focus. This was just a building, not the embodiment of the torment he’d gone through as a teenager.

“Okay, I think I’ve got it. Let’s go.”

The school had been built atop a slight rise, presumably to keep it away in case the water rose too much. They approached it by the north side, certain that Sendak would be directing the bulk of his troops south to face Lotor. The vast expanse of green ground used to be a soccer court, Keith remembered dimly. The overgrown grass now made it look like some abandoned backyard.

There was the remnant of a small shed where sporting equipment had been kept and behind which Keith had dallied with many other students. Shiro and he took cover behind it to observe the school. They had to make sure their approach wasn’t detected too soon. There were only the two of them, they had to be smart about this.

The wall facing them was pierced by numerous windows, most of which had been broken or busted open with time. Those lead to different classrooms, storage rooms, breakrooms, and other such rooms. There was a large, bolted door through which the students used to exit to reach the soccer court.

They waited for a few seconds, assessing their surroundings. There were shadows at the windows, moving fast as if at a run. Keith didn’t think anyone had been posted to guard this side of the island—everybody had to be freaking out about Lotor’s sudden random attack. It was their chance to act.

Keith left the cover of the shed and sprinted across the field. There was a broken window at ground-level just beside the door. He lunged for it. His fingers grabbed the sill and he heaved himself up through. Once inside, he paused, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. He strained his ears, trying to gage whether there were anyone nearby. Running footsteps came from every direction. This hall appeared to be deserted for the moment.

Shiro joined him, easing himself easily through the broken window. Keith tried not to let his attention wander to the other man. He wished they had time to talk rather than having to jump right into action. On the other hand, talking might make things even more confusing so perhaps action was best.

The hall here was long, running most of the length of the school. On both sides of the corridor were the lockers where the students used to store their belongings. Though the school had been closed more than five years ago, Keith fancied he could still smell the odours of adolescent sweat and rampaging hormones.

With the place this empty, sounds echoed off, making it difficult to pinpoint where they came from. The ion canon blasted off once more, the concussion of it shaking the whole place into its foundations. Keith tried not to think about the people he’d spent the last months with being pulverised into nothingness.

The staircase to his right lead to the upper floor, so he climbed it gingerly. Broken glass crunched beneath his boots. Shiro followed him, apparently content to be lead. He didn’t know the school so it was logical he’d let Keith take the lead. He was like Kuro in that regard—or maybe Kuro was like him?

He froze at the top of the stairs when he spotted moving shadows in the distance. Shiro and he plastered themselves against the wall as a few Galras ran by their hiding place. They were too much in a hurry to notice two people hiding in plain sight. Clearly, Sendak didn’t expect a stealthy assault on his base.

The staircase leading to the roof was different than this one. It had been made this way so students wouldn’t think to run to the roof to skip class. In Keith’s days, the access had been barred by a locked door to which only a few teachers had the key. He supposed Sendak would have removed the door to get his ion canon on the roof, which would help Keith in the long run.

The other staircase was on the far side of the building however. There were many classrooms on this level. From what Keith could gleam from his hiding spot, the door of these classrooms had been left open. It meant he couldn’t sneak by without being seen if there were Galras inside.

As if to prove his point, they heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Perhaps two people by the sound of it. Keith had to decide: did they fight or run? Fighting meant they would blow their cover: as soon as someone found the bodies, they’d know an intruder had sneaked inside. If they ran, they had to be smart about it lest they stumble upon more Galras at the bend of a corridor.

Keith thought quickly—there was a bathroom just a couple of feet away down the corridor. It didn’t involve Shiro and him running past an open door and would provide adequate cover until the two Galras coming towards them went away.

He went for it. Knowing Shiro would follow, he slid into the corridor, trying to be quiet. He tugged the bathroom door open and slipped inside, closing it behind Shiro. A few seconds later, the two Galras walked by the door, talking excitedly about what was happening.

Keith, who’d pressed his ear against the door to listen, turned and came face to face with a stunned Galra who had his pants around his ankles. They both gasped in fright. Shiro was on the Galra before Keith had time to blink, shooting him in the face with his gun. Blood exploded all over the walls of the small room, splattering on the mirror above the sink.

Keith stared as Shiro calmly holstered his blaster, heart beating hard. He always forgot how ruthless a fighter Shiro could be. There had been no hesitation, no pause, because he knew hesitating meant death. Shiro had fought as a gladiator, Keith recalled uneasily. He’d been on the sand, fighting for his life against Emperor Zarkon’s elite fighters. And he’d been the best of them all. Shiro, a mere human, had beaten many Galras and other alien fighters.

And Shiro didn’t like this ease he had with death. Shiro enjoyed martial arts—it had always been his way to keep healthy and blow off steam. He liked facing equally-matched opponents who were ready for him. He liked facing them in a control environment, when nobody’s life was on the line. He hated the killing, hated that he’d been faster than this poor bastard with his pants around his ankles innocently taking a leak.

“Let me do the killing,” Keith said in a low voice.

Shiro looked surprised by this. “Excuse me? Keith, no, don’t be ridiculous.”

He opened his mouth to answer when the door slammed into his back, forcing him to take a step forward with the impact. Another Galra man walked in, frowning. Once again, Shiro was on him. He grabbed him, tugged him roughly inside, threw him to the ground, and shot him. More blood splattered the walls. Shiro would be painted red with it if his black clothes didn’t hide it.

“No talking,” Shiro said. “We got to go.”

Keith nodded. He unsheathed his dagger, willing it to turn into a sword. Although it had been submerged in cold water, it didn’t look damaged. It still shone that earie violet colour. Shiro looked impressed when the dagger elongated to the length of a short sword, and Keith had to grin at him. Yet something else he’d have to explain later.

Once out of the bathroom, they carefully threated their way down the corridor. The first two classrooms they passed was empty. Glancing inside, Keith saw signs that they had been used recently: there were piles of blankets, miscellaneous objects, bags, and scraps of food. Sendak’s people had clearly been camping in here, cozy, while those who sided with Lotor shivered in a heatless old hangar.

Their luck didn’t hold. Four Galras appeared at the bend of the corridor seemingly out of nowhere. With the cacophony of the ion canon firing overhead and the clash of arms coming from outside, Keith had never heard them coming. These four Galras weren’t completely taken aback like those two idiots in the bathroom—they looked surprised to see two humans there, but they didn’t freeze long enough.

“Intruders!” one shouted at the top of her voice.

More Galras poured out of the nearest open door. Soon, the corridor was filled with them, about fifteen soldiers all dressed in Sendak’s colours, all armed to the teeth, all very eager to tear them limb from limb.

Keith didn’t hesitate. He rushed the nearest one, sword raised. It was blocked. He kicked, his foot hitting a knee. The Galra collapsed with a shout of pain, giving enough time to Keith to finish them off.

He lost himself in the melee. His vision tunneled up until all he could see was the faces of the Galras standing in front of him. Blows rained from every direction. He parried, he kicked, he punched, he twisted. He ducked under a punch, slammed his sword into an unprotected chest. He blocked a kick, his feet skidding on the dirty floor from the force of the blow. A hand grabbed his hair and he reverted his grip on his sword to punch it backward into his attacker’s guts. The smell of blood reached his nostrils, egging him on. The floor became slippery, treacherous.

He fought on.

Some amount of time later, every Galra lay dead with Keith and Shiro standing at the centre of the butchery. Slowly, Keith came back to his senses. He panted, chest heaving. His body hurt the same way it always did after a good fight. Looking down, he saw that both his hands were covered in blood up to the elbow, most of it thankfully hidden by the dark colour of his bodysuit. The same could be said for Shiro.

They’d fought back to back, knowing the other would guard their blindside. It had been an unconscious thing, as if they’d been doing this for years.

“I know there’s no time for this,” Shiro said after he’d regained his breath, “but I always knew you’d be a magnificent martial artist, Keith.” He grinned. “Thanks for proving me right.”

It had been an inside joke when they’d met—Shiro had agreed to train Keith as a martial artist saying he’d surpass him one day. Keith had never believed it, especially not then. He still didn’t think this was true, though he had indeed improved dramatically recently thanks to Krolia’s tutelage.

“You’re not bad yourself, old man,” Keith retorted.

Shiro’s laugh was sweet, an amazing sound that Keith had always kept close to his heart.

There was no more time for this. Picking his way over the dead bodies, Keith continued down the corridor. He’d lost count of the times the ion canon had fired during the fight. Judging by the sounds of combat coming from outside, he supposed that a few of Lotor’s people had made it to the island and were fighting hand-to-hand against Sendak’s troops. As soon as they had all crossed the river, the canon would become obsolete—surely Sendak wouldn’t dare fire in the crowd in case he hit his own folk?

They reached the door that lead to the roof. This one was guarded by two Galras who’d been on their guard. The second they spotted Shiro and Keith approaching, they started firing their blasters. Keith and Shiro took cover at the bend of the corridor, unable to get closer without risking being shot. Keith swore—how were they going to get past these two guys? A sword meant he had to get within stabbing distance and, though Shiro had a blaster of his own, he had to clear line of fire.

They needed a shield, something to hide behind. Looking around, Keith didn’t find anything suitable to the task. Galras didn’t use shield anyway—they just threw themselves headfirst into battle hoping for the best. Lotor had said his bodysuit and armour could withstand a shot, that didn’t mean he was eager to test it. What if he was shot in the face, anyway?

Shiro touched his shoulder to get his attention and then pointed upwards. Following the pointing finger, Keith spotted up the wall a grate.

“Once,” Shiro said conversationally, as if they weren’t being shot at, “Matt and I found ourselves in a similar situation. We were pinned down by shooters and we couldn’t get around them. We didn’t have time to wait for reinforcements. Long story short, Matt used the ventilation shafts to get being the shooters and knock them unconscious. Want to try it?”

There was a sort of wry amusement in Shiro’s voice as he recounted this story. Keith was once again taken aback by how completely this man could immerse himself in a situation. He was in his policeman mode now, ready to fight, talking about being shot as if this was a joke. It was the total opposite of his relaxed self who didn’t like action movies because of the violence.

Keith nodded because there was no way around it. Of course, _he_ had to go through the ventilation shaft because Shiro’s stupid broad shoulders wouldn’t fit through the grate. Shiro braced himself against the wall, linked his fingers as a foothold for Keith, and then hoisted him up. He made it look so effortless, like he’d done this a thousand times. Keith grabbed the grate and pulled, tearing it easily off its rotting plaster bed. A waft of dust hit him in the face. The smells of decay and disuse made him want to gag. Shiro gave him a boost. The inside of the shaft as smooth, giving little purchase. Keith scrambled, fingers slipping on smooth material. Finally, he extended his hand far enough inside to grab at the seam. Digging his nails in, he managed to pull himself up.

The fit was tight. Sounds came muffled in here. Any movement he made dislodged old dust that threatened to make him sneeze. Trying to breathe through his mouth, he wriggled forward. The shaft branched off in many directions after a few feet so he followed the sound of blasters to his left. The shaft came to an end at a grate similar to the one he’d just removed. Peering through the slits, he could just see the two Galras blocking access to the door leading to the roof.

He couldn’t be discrete about it: he put his hands on the grate and gave it one, sharp shove. It moved without being dislodged. Swearing under his breath, he gave it another shove. This time, it flew off to land with a loud bang on the floor below. This startled the two Galras—the sound of blaster shots faltered. Keith heaved himself out of the shaft and fell on the nearest Galra, taking him down hard. They hit the floor in a tangle of kicking limbs. Something hard hit Keith in the face, making his vision double momentarily. He slashed wildly with his sword until a warm spurt of blood splashed against his cheek.

He got to his feet, wiping the blood with the back of his sleeve. Shiro had taken care of the second Galra. The walls around them were covered in burnt marks left by the blasters being fired in every directions.

Once sure they were both all right, they climbed the stairs towards the roof. As they got closer to the exit, the sounds of battle got much louder. The building shook around their ears as the ion canon fired.

The flat roof was full of Galras, of course. They were all turned towards the battlefield, shooting down on their attackers. From the distance, Keith couldn’t quite see what was happening down below. He could, however, see the river and its parting made by the Balmerans. Huge craters pockmarked the visible bedrock. The riverfront of low town burned merrily, big plumes of smoke rising towards the uncaring grey sky. Screams and shouts of pain mingled with battle cries. The mixed odours of blood, loosen bowels, and charred skin overtook the aroma of river water.

It was sickening. Keith had never been in a full-scale battle. He had no idea where to turn his attention, where to begin. His aim had been to get rid of the ion canon, but he couldn’t just march to it and deactivate it with a battalion of enemy Galras close by. There were too many of them for him to simply attack them head-on, no matter that he had Shiro on his side. He had to do something though—as he watched, the canon fired straight into the melee taking place on the front lawn. An explosion rocked the ground. Those who’d been standing directly in the path of the blast were simply… vaporized. There was nothing left of them, only some smears of blood on the ground.

Sendak’s men apparently didn’t care that they were hitting their own people by shooting like that.

Keith heard a long, drawn out cry coming from behind him, from the staircase. He turned, not quite alert because the sound was more like someone trying to give themselves courage by shouting. As he watched, someone came charging up the stairs, yelling all the while, holding a huge canon. They barrelled onto the roof and Keith saw, to his horror, that this was Hunk. As if seized by some mad enchantment, Hunk opened fire and _shot_ at random. There were so many Galras standing around that he couldn’t miss.

The others that followed him were from Lotor’s soldiers. Keith recognized Axca throwing herself into the melee with wild abandon, knife flashing.

“I’ll take care of the canon,” Shiro told Keith. “Make sure your friend doesn’t get killed.”

There was a bemused smile on his lips as he said that. Keith nodded dumbly and watched as Shiro hurried towards the ion canon.

Disarray ruled on the rooftop. The enemy Galras evidently had no idea what had hit them. They were slow to react, unsure whether they’d be punish for defending themselves rather than attacking the invaders in the courtyard.

Keith stood to Hunk’s back, sword out, cutting down anyone trying to attack his friend. Hunk evidently had no idea what he was doing: someone had handed him this huge-ass canon and told him to wreak havoc. It was kind of funny and Keith would have been amused by the situation if he hadn’t been stuck in the thick of it.

The Galras were fearsome foes. They didn’t back down no matter that they were been mowed down like grass. They dispersed on the rooftop, running in every direction, making it difficult for Hunk to shoot them. The canon he held kept firing and he kept yelling as if he had no control on it whatsoever.

More Galras poured from the staircase from who knows where. Keith pushed Hunk away from the door, wanting him to aim in that direction to stop the incoming flow of enemies.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw a huge, yellow spark coming from the ion canon. Turning to look, he saw that Shiro had torn into its base and was tugging wiring out by the fistful. Sparks and tiny flames burst from the metal flame, licking dangerously close to him. Whatever he was doing seemed to be working—a whining noise came from the canon as it powered down after one last, weak blast.

Everybody was busy with something and so only Keith saw it. Amongst the dust raised by the fighting, a huge figure loomed. The Galra—because only a Galra could be this big—made his way towards the ion canon, circling behind Shiro. A gust of wind blew, momentarily tearing the veil of dust, revealing Commander Sendak himself. Just like Shiro, he too had a prosthetic arm, except that his was huge, certainly ten times the size of a normal arm. He swung it in a wide arc and hit Shiro.

It was like a watching someone getting hit by a car. Shiro never saw it coming—the blow landed and sent him flying through the air like he was nothing more than a rag doll. His body hit the rooftop once before falling off the edge.

And Sendak went after him.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning:  
> -Character death

“Shiro!”

Keith didn’t hesitate—he went after Sendak. He didn’t see any of the Galras trying to catch him, didn’t feel any of the blast licking at his skin. He didn’t even think as he reached the edge of the rooftop: he jumped. He landed hard into the scrawny bushes. They did little to break his fall. He hit the ground with a thump, air whooshing out of his lungs.

He felt none of it as he struggled to stand up. A few feet away, Shiro was doing the same while Sendak prowled towards him. Shiro looked winded both by the fall and by the blow. There was blood on the side of his face. His shirt sleeve had been torn, revealing bloody gashes down his left arm. Keith thought it was a small miracle he could stand up at all.

He could tell Shiro was scared as Sendak grew closer. Though he was too far to see the lines of his face, his body language spoke eloquently. He’d always hated Sendak, had always distrusted him, and he’d probably known things would go down this way eventually. Sendak loomed over him, huge even by Galra standards. Shiro looked puny, minuscule.

Keith’s blood burned in his veins. He needed to help Shiro! They were on their own on this side of this school. If he didn’t intervene, nobody would.

He bent to pick his dropped sword and, when he straightened, there was someone standing in front of him. Keith was so startled he took a step back, eyes wide. For a second, he wasn’t sure whether he was hallucinating the whole thing. It wasn’t a Galra soldier standing in front of him but a young, human-looking woman. No matter how hard he stared, she remained there, real, not a figment of his imagination.

She was short and slender. Her face was perfect, flawless, her body hourglass shaped and barely draped by a thin green dress. Keith had never felt anything remotely sexual towards women, yet the breath was punched out of his chest by how beautiful this one was. She had lustrous, thick brown hair and huge brown eyes that were regarding him warmly.

When she leaned towards him, his treacherous eyes looked down to glance into her impressive décolletage. She saw him look and smiled.

And then she stabbed him.

The breastplate of his armour deflected the blade, but the force of the blow sent him reeling back. Air whooshed out of his lungs. Stunned, his hand went to his ribs—his fingers weren’t bloodied.

Eyes wide, he looked up at the young woman. She was still smiling sweetly as if there wasn’t a huge-ass knife in her dainty, tiny hand.

The smile. He knew that smile.

“You’re Petrushka,” Keith mumbled, stunned.

Petrushka was one of the most well-known and most popular class-one prostitute. She was also the most life-like sex doll ever made. Keith had heard of her. She’d often been on telly shows where her various owners of the moment flaunted her. Her hourly rate was about what a skilled worker earned in a year _before_ tax deductions. She’d been in many so-called high-class porn movies, most of which Keith had surprised Lance watching throughout the years. There had been rumours that her true owner, her pimp in other words, was a high-ranking Galra man. Only someone close to the previous emperor would have had the means to commission such a sex doll.

Who would have thought Commander Sendak would be such a sicko, though?

She had to have a computer in her brain and some facial-recognition software somewhere because she said: “You’re Keith. Class-three prostitute. Licence bought.”

“Yeah. Look, would you mind stepping aside? I need to help my friend.”

She didn’t move. Although she wore a thin dress that left nothing to the imagination and soft-soled shoes, she looked oddly menacing with her knife in her hand. Keith felt unnerved by her presence. She _looked_ human yet he sensed there was something missing, as if she didn’t have a soul. He remembered hearing people saying that fucking a sex doll was fun because they mimicked human emotions so perfectly without actually feeling them. He could push her and she wouldn’t feel it if she fell to the ground. He couldn’t bring himself to do so. He hated sex dolls, probably because a part of himself pitied them so greatly.

“Move aside,” he repeated, injecting some authority into his voice.

He glanced over her shoulder at Shiro and Sendak. They seemed to be exchanging words for the moment. Keith didn’t like it, didn’t like the curl to Shiro’s shoulders.

The sex doll didn’t move. She remained standing there, eyes on him. It was unnerving, knowing there was nothing behind that gaze. This was messed up, why was a sex doll using a knife on him? Where in hell had she been able to conceal a knife in such a tight, revealing dress anyway?

As he pondered this, Keith’s eyes went to her knife hand. He’d first thought she was holding it, but, as he stared, he realised her hand had _turned into_ the knife. It was as if the weapon was an integral part of her, a normal extension of her arm. What the fuck was going on?

She attacked him again, slashing. Keith stepped back, reeling. He had to stop wondering why and focus on not getting killed. This wasn’t just a mere robot waving a knife mindlessly. He could tell she knew what she was doing. Her knife flashed close to vital points on his body. She was precise and quick, and her aim was to kill, not maim or incapacitate.

The knife slid an inch from his cheek. Keith moved back, trying to get some distance between the two of them so he could use his sword. The sword could revert back to its dagger form, he just couldn’t focus enough to get it to do it. He blocked one blow aimed at his face. Unfazed, Petrushka pivoted on her hip and slammed her foot into his unprotected side. The force of the blow sent him sprawling on the turf.

Okay so apparently she could _fight_. Keith got to his feet, ready to take her seriously now. This wasn’t a sex doll, this wasn’t a soulless puppet, it was an opponent like many others he had faced. If he wanted to win, he had to put his head in the game completely. The sword shorted into a dagger and this time, he attacked first. She parried and dodged and blocked apparently effortlessly. Her movements were fluid, graceful, not at all hindered by her tight dress and unpractical shoes. His dagger cut her on the forearm and she didn’t wince. There was red liquid oozing from the wound, so lifelike as to be disturbing.

When Petrushka attacked, she was fast. Keith had trouble blocking all of her attacks. He tried dodging most of them, saving up his strength—she wouldn’t tire, that was the problem. Steel slid against luxite, sparks flying. When their blades got locked, forcing them together, Keith headbutted her. Pain exploded in his forehead and she kicked him again in the belly. He flew backward, head over heels, sliding on the wet grass. He threw his feet back and rolled backwards, getting up just in time to see her rushing towards him. He blocked her blade as blood trickled down his forehead into his eyes.

After another exchange of slashes and blows, Keith managed to throw her arms wide, leaving her chest open. He spun on his foot and aimed the kick at her unprotected chest. The blow connected perfectly. It was her turn to be sent to the ground, rolling in a helpless heap.

Keith took the two seconds it took her to get to her feet to glance towards Shiro. The time for talking was over apparently—Sendak and he were going at it, fighting, throwing punches and kicks in the deadly dance of skilled fighters. Keith had no idea who had the upper hand: Sendak clearly had the advantage of size and longer reach and sheer brute force. Shiro had… Shiro had desperation on his side and Keith wasn’t sure this would be enough to save him.

Petrushka’s fist hit him on the jaw. Stars of pain exploded behind his eyes. He slashed wildly as he took a few steps back, sure that his teeth had been shattered. Blinking through the tears, he saw with horror that Petrushka’s both arms had turned into blades. Although there was grass stains all over her clothes, she still looked pretty. Despite the obvious weapons, she didn’t even appear menacing. She could be taking a stroll in the park.

Keith turned his dagger into a sword again, knowing he had to keep her at arm’s length. It pained him to say, but she clearly was the better fighter. And why wouldn’t she? She was like those robots at the training centre—she’d been implanted with some fighting AI. It meant she wouldn’t make mistakes, wouldn’t leave herself open. She wouldn’t get tired and she wouldn’t be stopped by pain.

He had no idea how he was going to win.

He still managed to land blows on her with little effect. No matter how often he threw her to the ground, she simply got up, unfazed. He couldn’t stop looking in Shiro’s direction, trying to gage how his friend was faring. Twice already, he’d tried to come to his aid, but Petrushka had stopped him. Clearly her role in all this was to stop any outside interference to her master’s fight. If Keith wanted to help Shiro, he had to get rid of her first.

Every AI had a failsafe built into it, Pidge had once told him. Those at the training hall so overconfident fools didn’t get killed by trying to fight too-strong opponents. The AI manning love hotels also had them. Did Petrushka have one? Was there a word that would stop her dead in her tracks? If she belonged to Sendak as Keith suspected, he doubted it. And even if she did have a failsafe, he didn’t have time to figure it out.

No, he’d win this fight with his fists and blade, that was all there was to it.

He decided to get rid of her weapons first. If she didn’t have knives, she couldn’t kill him. She obviously didn’t expect this new tactic because he managed to slice his blade through her elbow quite easily. The bladed arm fell to the ground. Sparks fizzled from the new stump. Petrushka’s eyes widened in a perfect, human display of dismay. Keith kicked her on the side of the lost arm. She couldn’t protect herself so the kick connected with her ribs. What passed for bones under her false skin cracked as she fell over backward.

Keith didn’t let her fall. He threw himself at her as she began her descent, grabbing a fistful of her dress and slamming his knee into her belly. He fell atop her, pushing his whole weight into her torso. She felt perfectly human beneath him, and it didn’t matter because she was his opponent no matter what she was.

She bucked beneath him. Her remaining blade-arm slashed at him. He caught her wrist before he got skewered. Using the stomp of her left arm, she hit him hard in the chest. Thankfully, the breastplate absorbed most of the strength of the blow, though he did feel it reverberate through his bones.

With one swift movement, she switched their position. She was now on top of him, keeping him down with her legs pinning his to the ground. It had happened so quickly that it left his head spinning. She was pressing on his arm, trying to angle his own sword towards his throat. She was insanely strong for such a lithe woman. His muscles shook from holding her back.

She pressed down harder. The sword fell like a headsman’s axe towards his neck. Shouting in both fear and anger, Keith willed it to return to its dagger size. It did, half a second before slicing his throat. It plunged into his shoulder instead, tearing a yell of agony from him. Petrushka pushed harder, grinding the blade into his clavicle.

Keith kicked out with pure, agony-filled instinct. His foot caught her hip. It spun her, unbalancing her just enough for him to push her off him. Getting up, he tore the dagger from his shoulder with another shout of pain. Blood trickled down his suit. He was dimly amazed at her strength—the suit was built to without incredible abuse. She’d pierced it apparently effortlessly.

And now his right arm was barely functioning, hanging loosely at his side. Sweat dampened his skin. He panted, shivering, terrified and excited. The adrenaline rush made him stupid, made him relish this fight with a worthy opponent.

They rushed each other and their blades crashed. They were on equal footing now; they both had an arm out of commission. Keith grinned down at her. Petrushka didn’t respond, didn’t seem to be feeling anything other than slight annoyance that he was refusing to die.

Something huge and solid slammed into them. Keith hit the ground with his wounded shoulder. Black dots flashed in front of his eyes. The sounds surrounding him dimmed to a thin buzzing. He barely felt the cool grass against his skin as he crashed into the ground, buried beneath a mountainous, furry Galra. As he opened his eyes, Keith came face to face with Sendak’s enraged visage. There were scratches on his cheeks and blood dribbled from his mouth. He had only one good, yellow eye.

Keith tried to get from under him. He’d nearly made it when one huge paw grabbed his ankle, pulling sharply. He fell back down on his hands and knees. The pain in his wounded shoulder felt like a hot brand had been pushed snuggly under his collarbone. He scrambled, kicking back with his free leg. His foot caught Sendak’s face. Bones crunched, but it was like kicking stone. Sendak heaved himself to his knees, wrapped his prosthetic hand around Keith’s neck, and got up. Keith hung from Sendak’s grasp a couple of feet off the ground, kicking helplessly.

The pressure at the back of his skull was tremendous. Sendak’s metal hand easily wrapped around his neck, engulfing half his face. The Galran commander held him without trouble as if he weighed nothing. Keith bucked. When held at arm’s length, his legs weren’t long enough to reach Sendak. He kicked at nothing.

Out the corner of his eye, Keith saw Shiro approaching. He’d been wounded too. There were tears in his clothes revealing deep, bleeding gashes. His face was a mask of twisted fury so unlike his usually peaceful features that Keith barely recognized him. He limped as he walked towards them. His own prosthetic arm threw off purplish sparks as it rested at an odd angle against the side of his body.

Keith saw Petrushka circling slowly around Shiro, cutting off any chance of escape. Dress torn, hair a mess, gait uneven, she managed to look both impressive and diminutive at the same time.

“Let him go, Sendak,” Shiro ordered, voice tight.

Sendak tightened his hold on Keith’s neck. “Or what? You’ll kill me? Don’t make me laugh, Shirogane. You’re not half the champion Emperor Zarkon thought you to be. You’re just one puny human.”

“Let him go and fight me man to man. If I’m just one puny human, you’ll have no trouble killing me, won’t you?”

“I won’t have any trouble killing you even after I kill this one.” Sendak turned to look at Keith, fangs glinting and one-good eye glowing. “He’s been a thorn in my side since this war began. Stupid little half-blood boy has been a busy bee, killing off my patrols and sneaking into my territory. And he damaged my property. Do you know how expensive it is to fix a bitch like Petrushka?”

Keith grinned through pain and fear. “Face it, you’re losing, Sendak. If not me or Shiro, Lotor will come and kill you.”

Sendak laughed. “Lotor?! He can try! That strumpet is nothing more than a bag of wind! I’ll kill off his generals one by one and then I’ll kill him. How about I start with you?”

The pressure around Keith’s neck doubled. A strangled noise gargled from his lips. His hands went to Sendak’s fingers, tugging, trying to ease the press so he could get one breath in. He slashed his dagger, finding only the unfeeling metal of Sendak’s prosthetic. Darkness threatened, oozing nearer at the edges of his vision. He gasped, chest heaving, lungs working.

One minute, the world was closing in around him. The next, blissfully cool air was rushing into his lungs. Keith started coughing, tears streaming down his face, spit wetting his lips. He heard renewed sounds of fighting and guessed Shiro and Sendak were going at it again.

Petrushka didn’t give him time to catch his breath. She kicked him where he lay on the ground. The blow to his ribs made it all the more difficult to get his breath back. Keith scrambled out of her reach, climbing to his feet. Once his eyes cleared somewhat, he looked around for his dropped dagger. At first, he didn’t see it. Panic seized him, until a flash of violet drew his attention. The dagger was in Shiro’s hand. It wouldn’t change into a sword, but it was enough to help nonetheless.

It left Keith weaponless however. He raised his fists as Petrushka approached, the blade attached to her arm shimmering wetly under the winter sun. He had nothing to block her thrusts with, so he contented himself with dodging. He was getting tired—his legs felt wobbly. The wet grass underfoot made it easy to slip. His thoughts went to the others—where was Lotor? Shouldn’t he be the one fighting Sendak? Was he still being held back by Sendak’s own troops? Keith didn’t know and he didn’t have the time to check.

Petrushka slashed at him again. The tip of her blade cut through the sleeve of his suit, biting into his skin. He barely felt it. He stepped back, foot slipping on the uneven ground. She chose that moment to lunge again. Unbalanced as he was, he fell backwards, back hitting the grass with a harsh thud. A sharp pain sliced through his lower back, making him cry out. Instinctively, he reached under. His fingers closed around something sharp. He instantly knew what it was. The angle was wrong. Petrushka was coming at him, blade raised high. Keith didn’t move, overplayed a little the pain wrecking his body. Could he pull this off? He had to.

Petrushka bent over him, pulled her bladed arm back to slice his neck. Just as the arm was descending, Keith whipped his arm from behind his back and plunged the blade into Petrushka’s forehead. The arm she’d lost earlier dangled from her face as her eyes slowly widened. Since Keith didn’t know whether this was a mortal blow, he didn’t wait. He pushed her off, grabbed her by the hair, and tore the blade from her face. With one swift movement, he brought it down on the back of her neck, severing her head.

Her body remained kneeling for half a moment before it slowly toppled sideways. Tiny sparks flew from the stump of her neck. Her long brown hair felt silky soft in his hold. There was little blood, just a few tiny droplets. Her innards were those of a robot, of course, yet the look of thinly-veiled surprise on her face was human enough.

With a shiver of disgust, Keith let the head and the blade go. He didn’t know if she was dead or simply out of commission. He didn’t care—she didn’t seem capable of movements for the moment and it was all that mattered.

The battle haze receded just enough for him a commotion coming from the other side of the school building. Shouts of triumph resounded in the cold air. Keith didn’t know if they were from his side or Sendak’s. There were people rounding the corner, clad in dark uniforms.

Keith turned towards Shiro and Sendak. Petrushka might have been eliminated, the bigger threat still remained. Shiro still had Keith’s blade in his hand. Sendak bled from myriad cuts all over his furry skin, red blood seemingly to shimmer against dark purple. Shiro could hardly stand on his own two feet. He evaded a blow narrowly, Sendak’s huge fist passing an inch from his face.

Keith took a step forward, wiling his body to obey. Sendak’s back was to him. If he hurried, he could plunge Petrushka’s knife into his spine and end this whole mess.

The world seemed to congeal around him. His legs were heavy. His head felt as if it were full of cotton. All he could focus on was the two men fighting. His vision tunnelled around them, blocking everything.

With dismaying ease, Keith saw every detail. He saw Sendak’s feint that Shiro missed. Saw Sendak's prosthetic hand closing around Shiro’s neck, fingers secured under his jaw. Saw the metal ripple like muscles as the fingers tightened around Shiro’s throat. Saw the exact moment Shiro’s spine snapped, his body going limp. Saw the luxite blade fall from suddenly limp fingers. Saw it spun very slowly towards the blood-slick grass.

“Shiro!”

The sound that left his throat was animalistic, nothing short of a roar. He was on Sendak in the blink of an eye, throwing himself at the huge body with unprecedented strength. They toppled to the ground. Keith threw his fist back and punched and punched. Knuckles met soft tissue that burst upon each impact. Claws raked at him, tearing through his suit and skin. Blood soaked them both.

Sendak snarled in his face and slapped him off him. Keith flew sideways, rolling on the grass, the world rocking on its axle. The growl in his throat didn’t die down. He got to his knees, teeth bared. Sendak’s kick caught him in his wounded shoulder. Keith howled with pain. Every point of his body converged towards the hole in his shoulder. He had no strength left, yet he refused to back down.

Hands held him back as he was lunging for Sendak again. Keith snarled, fighting, watching as the big Galra got to his feet. He wanted to kill him! He’d hurt Shiro! The bastard needed to die!

Lotor came into view. Tall, lean, deadly with a huge, black sword in his hand, he walked towards Sendak. He was covered in blood from head to toe, red smearing even his long white hair. Keith could tell Sendak was finished, and Sendak knew it too. It showed in the desperate rage filling his face as he tried to attack Lotor.

Keith elbowed whoever was holding him back. He went to Shiro, lying unmoving on the cold, wet grass. Keith knelt beside him, eyes wide with horror. He touched Shiro’s chest—there was no heartbeat. He touched Shiro’s neck—there was no pulse. Shiro’s face was white, marred with blood. His eyes were half-closed. Black bruises were blossoming around his neck.

“Shiro, no, you can’t do that to me…” Keith mumbled.

He combed his fingers through Shiro’s hair, willing him to move. He didn’t. He kept muttering, shaking Shiro’s shoulder. His body was a mess of bent limbs and patches of blood. Keith saw a piece of steel protruding from between two ribs. The deep gash on his thigh still bled. Arterial blood, Keith thought disjointedly. Pierced lung, slashed artery, broken neck. All the signs proved to him that Shiro was dead. Yet he refused to believe it. Shiro couldn’t be dead. He’d been alive ten minutes ago. He’d been standing up and breathing and moving.

Keith’s vision blurred so much he lost sight of Shiro. He was only a black smudge against a greenish background pockmarked with red dots. He had a fistful of Shiro’s wet shirt clasped in his hands. There was still some heat to the cloth, taunting him. If he’d been faster, if he’d killed that fucking doll more quickly, he’d have been able to help Shiro. He’d been too weak, too inept, and it had cost Shiro his life.

A sob broke from between his lips. He didn’t have the strength to muffle it. Another came, then another, until his whole body was wracked by huge, sobbing gasps. He lowered his head to Shiro’s chest, bawling, howling, feeling as if his body was being torn apart at the seams.

And all the time he kept begging Shiro to come back, kept whimpering and beseeching and imploring, voice choked by tears. Every second he kept expecting to feel a warm hand in his hair, a warm voice to ask him what had upset him.

It didn’t happen. Shiro was dead. Shiro would never again pat his hair or smile at him or make him feel safe and welcome. They hadn’t talked for months and had only met again with a few terse words exchanged. That couldn’t be it. That couldn’t be all. Shiro’s life couldn’t end like that, on the grass of some abandoned island.

Someone touched his shoulder. He pushed the hand away—it wasn’t Shiro’s. They were insistent, tugging at his unwounded shoulder, trying to get his attention. Why couldn’t they just leave him be?! He turned, snarling, ready to bite.

Lance and Hunk hauled him off Shiro’s body. Keith yelled, swearing at them, tugging. It didn’t make sense! He was stronger than they were, why couldn’t he break free? What the hell was going on?

“Let me go!” he shouted, twisting.

They only tightened their grip on him, almost painfully now. Lance had his hand over the hole in Keith’s shoulder, trying to stanch the blood.

He nearly tore himself free of their grasp, but then Lotor was there, blocking his access. Lotor pushed him back into his friends’ arms and they redoubled their effort to hold him down.

“Let Allura work,” Lotor said.

The words hit Keith like a slap. All of a sudden, he remembered Allura’s powers. She could heal. She could give life back. What if she could fix Shiro?

Still tensed, Keith nonetheless stopped struggling. Allura was kneeling beside Shiro’s unmoving body, her hands lightly touching his head. A warm glow shimmered around the both of them. Keith noted distantly that, just like the rest of them, Allura had blood on her clothes and wounds on her skin. She remained there a long moment, body tensed, working her magic.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice. “There’s nothing I can do. His body is beyond repair.”

Keith would have slumped to the ground if Lance and Hunk hadn’t been holding him up. The word _no_ fell from his lips like a mantra, like a prayer that would bring Shiro back if repeated often enough.

Allura looked up at him, blue eyes sorrowful. “I’m so sorry, Keith. What little is left of his soul in his body isn’t strong enough to fight back.”

“What?” Keith mumbled.

“He barely has any fighting spirit left. If I heal his body, it will sap the remainder of his strength and he’ll die nonetheless.”

The words didn’t make sense. It wasn’t possible—Shiro had the strongest fighting spirit of anyone Keith knew. He’d never given up, not even when his disease had threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t give up now, not when it mattered most.

“What if his spirit was in a healthy body?”

Kuro stepped forward, eyebrows lowered in a frown. The crowd that had amassed around looked with confusion between Kuro and Shiro, most of them apparently not aware that Shiro had been cloned a few years ago.

Allura hesitated. “What are you suggesting?”

If she were fazed by the fact that there were two very-alike men there, she hid it marvellously.

“His spirit. What if you put it in my body? I have his DNA. I’m him. Only our minds are different.”

Another long pause. “I… perhaps this could work. But… but I’m not sure _you_ would survive the transfer. I’ve never heard of this before. Perhaps it would kill you both.”

Kuro took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “Do it.”

Keith felt as if he’d just been stabbed. This was surreal. “Don’t!” he shouted. “Kuro, don’t! You heard her! You could die too!”

He twisted, and the grip on his arms relented. He was able to break free of his friends’ hold and go to Kuro. He grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, staring up at him. “What the hell is your problem?! Do you want to die?! I can’t let you do that!”

Kuro smiled. His hand went to Keith’s cheek. “Baby, don’t. You knew it wouldn’t last. If I can at least do something to save Shiro, I want to try.”

Keith knew he was weeping. He could hardly see through the tears in his eyes. “Don’t please… what if I lose you too?”

“You won’t. Shiro is strong, he’ll survive this.” Kuro paused, glancing away. There was no hiding the wet sheen in his eyes. “Just don’t forget me, okay, baby?”

“How could I ever forget you, you idiot?” He pulled Kuro in, hugging him tightly. “Thank you. Thank you so much. You’re such a good person, Kuro.”

Kuro hugged him back. His body shook as he pressed his face into Keith’s hair.

When he stepped back, his face was set in a determined expression.

Following Allura’s directions, he sat beside Shiro. Allura looked sad as she spoke softly to him, probably asking him if he was certain. Kuro nodded firmly once. She nodded too. Taking a deep breath, she bent over Shiro’s prone body. She rested her hands on his head, closed her eyes, and let her alchemy work. The air shimmered around them. The grass underfoot turned greener, lusher. Sweat beaded on Allura’s face. A bright light bloomed between her hands. It punched the breath out of her. She panted, gritting her teeth as if she were under tremendous strain.

Suddenly, Shiro’s body looked even more lifeless, deflated somehow. Shaking, Allura turned slowly towards Kuro. He didn’t flinch once, didn’t made to move away when she rested her hands on his head gently. The glow changed somewhat, growing brighter as if a second sun was being born. A gust of wind whipped at all of them, throwing dirt in the air. Allura groaned, body shaking, teeth gritted, eyes closed tight. The grass that had been greener withered, turned grey before being blown away in a clump of dust.

Allura sagged sideways, slumping to the ground. Lance was beside her in an instant, propping her up, concern twisting his features.

Keith watched with bated breath. Had it worked? He couldn’t move. His body had turned to lead. He watched as if from a great height, as if he had no role to play in this drama. He couldn’t tell if it had worked. Kuro… Shiro… whoever this was, remained seated, unmoving. Then, just like Allura, his body sagged and he slumped down.

Keith rushed to him, gathering him in his arms. To his horror, he saw that the black roots of Shiro’s hair was turning silvery white. He was still breathing, his chest rising and falling as if he were sleeping. He didn’t wake when Keith shook him. He called his name—Shiro, Kuro—and got no reaction whatsoever.

“It worked,” Allura said weakly. She managed a tiny smile at him. “Just let him rest. He’ll wake eventually.”


	46. Chapter 46

The next week was a blur. What Keith recalled of it came in flashes. Nothing vivid, just vague impressions of colours, shapes, and voices. He had no idea how they got off the island. He had no idea how he found himself in a hospital with a thick bandage holding his repaired shoulder together. He had no idea what he did with his days when he wasn’t sitting at Shiro’s bedside.

Shiro was in the hospital too, though there was nothing physically wrong with him. Kuro had been battered during the fight, but it wasn’t anything that a few bandages and some sleep wouldn’t fix. The body was all right, or so the doctors said. They scratched their head when trying to come up with a reason why Shiro wasn’t waking up. Every scan came up normal. He was as fit as a fiddle, just unconscious. Allura told Keith it was perfectly normal, that merging two minds together couldn’t be an easy thing to handle.

What was happening inside Shiro’s head? Was Kuro and he somehow… clashing for dominance of the body? Was Shiro’s body rejecting Kuro’s mind, knowing it wasn’t his own? Keith didn’t know and Allura had no way of knowing either. She was confident that Shiro would wake up, she simply didn’t know when it would happen.

Keith tried to remain positive. Everybody was, after all. If Allura said Shiro would eventually woke up, then he would. It was difficult, though. Keith couldn’t stop remembering the moment Sendak had snapped Shiro’s neck, the way his body had gone limp. It replayed in his nightmares, forcing him awake with a scream. It kept him awake at night, eating away at him. He ate and drank only when someone brought him food. Otherwise, he simply sat and watched.

It was sunny today. The hospital room had large windows and bright sunrays fell on the bed in broad swathes. One fell directly across Shiro’s hair. It was almost complexly white now, a silvery colour that seemed to glow. Keith sat on his chair, watching him. The hair colour made him look both younger and older. There had been no change in his condition. He still slept on, looking utterly calm. No furrow of worry marred his face.

Keith sighed, huddling in his chair. He pulled his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knee. He hated hospitals, but he refused to go back home. It wasn’t as if there was a home to go back to anyway. It wasn’t as if crossing the river back to low town was an easy thing to do. He’d heard someone had set up a sort of boat to ferry people across, probably Lotor. Lotor was busy with fixing everything so he’d probably fixed that already. Even if he had wanted to go through the trouble of crossing the river, there was no flat to go back to. Lance had told him that the place had been thoroughly looted. The rooms had been cleaned out. There was no furniture left intact. A pipe had burst due to the cold and the whole place had been flooded before it had frozen over.

He was kind of homeless now. Adam had offered him to stay at his flat. Appreciating the offer, Keith had nonetheless refused: he wanted to remain by Shiro’s side. He wanted to be there when—not if—the man woke up.

The hospital belonged to the Galra. Lotor had insisted all of his supporters be treated there since the Galra technology was so much more advanced. Keith couldn’t complain so far—the doctors and nurses here weren’t better or worse than those he had encountered in the past. He’d been treated professionally if somewhat with a bit of fear since Lotor hadn’t left the room until Keith was back on his own feet. The hole in his shoulder would heal cleanly, leaving a thick scar that didn’t bother him. Other than that, his wounds were minor. He’d been released three days ago. He simply hadn’t left.

He tried to get regular updates on the situation outside. Lance and Allura, alongside many other refugees, were doing their best to fix the situation in low town. Two-third of that part of the city had been either burned down, destroyed, or was downright inhospitable. The refugees had all turned to Allura, hope in their eyes, and made her their unofficial representative. Lance had joked that she was the princess of low town now, not only the princess of the Alteans.  Together, the both of them were an unstoppable force that even Lotor had to bow to.

When Keith’s body grew achy with too much sitting, he visited Sven’s room. Sven’s wounds had been much more serious than his and had required further treatment. Being shot by blasters apparently scrambled badly with a person’s innards. He’d spent hours in surgery, getting his body fixed. Keith tried to be with him when he woke up after the anesthesia. He didn’t know why, it was simply an urge he couldn’t control. He knew Shiro wouldn’t begrudge him this. Sven was all alone anyway. He seemed to know the weird alien Slav, but nobody wanted to wake up to that thing. So Keith sat with Sven a few hours every day. They rarely talked. The silence between them wasn’t heavy—it was restive. Keith felt they both needed the calm to heal properly.

Keith heaved a sigh. There was no change to Shiro’s condition that morning either. The doctor had just left after saying that he was still perfectly healthy. Keith was getting tired of hearing that same phrase; why was Shiro still unconscious if nothing was wrong with his body? He had to make an effort not to get angry at the doctor. Soul transfer wasn’t something ordinary doctors were accustomed to, he reminded himself. The poor guy was doing his best so biting his head off wouldn’t do anything.

He looked at his friend’s peaceful face, wondering what was happening in his head. He hoped Shiro was truly unconscious, that he was resting and not waging some war against himself. Allura had said that transferring his mind into Kuro’s body wouldn’t crush Kuro’s own mind. The two would coexist together, and Keith feared what this meant. Would they be aware of each other? Would Shiro be aware of Kuro’s own memories? Would his personality change? Would they like… take turn to control the body? Allura had no answer—she knew the alchemy to transfer souls, she just didn’t know of the result. Her father would have known, apparently, but her father was dead and of no help whatsoever. Keith had to wait and see, and be ready to deal with whatever arose.

The sunrays slanted, slowly moving from Shiro’s face to his chest as the hours passed by. An orderly brought Keith some lunch. He ate without much pleasure, a first for him. He forced himself to swallow every bite, knowing he needed the energy. The food tasted somewhat bland, generic, mass produced. He didn’t care, food was food.

Keith slumped in his chair. He rested his head on the backrest, closing his eyes. He was tired. His shoulder ached. He was bored. Sven was sleeping in his own room so there would be no relief there. He considered napping—the doctor had told him the key to a fast recovery was rest after all. So he closed his eyes, propped his naked feet on the mattress beside Shiro’s body, and emptied his mind.

The brush of fingers against his ankle made him jump. He sat up, looking around, trying to see if someone might have come into the room without him realising it.

There was a hand on his foot. A hand attached to an arm that attached to a shoulder that belonged to Shiro. Shiro’s eyes were open. They were fixed on him.

An odd little sound escaped from Keith’s throat.

“Shiro?” he asked in a soft voice.

“Sorry to wake you up.”

Shiro’s own voice was thick, scratchy with disuse. There was, to Keith’s consternation, a wry note to it, like he was amused. He sounded as if he were just waking up after a short nap, embarrassed to have fallen asleep on the couch.

Keith scrambled to his feet, half climbing on the bed to grasp Shiro’s face in his trembling fingers. He stared into the other man’s eyes, disbelieving. Shiro looked back calmly at him. His eyes were clear. He appeared to be in full command of his faculties. His skin was warm. There was a healthy colour to his cheeks.

A shiver shook Keith’s body from head to foot. Shiro was alive. Shiro was all right. Keith’s lips wobbled. He lowered his head, resting his forehead on Shiro’s chest. He didn’t want to be seen with tears in his eyes. His shoulders shook from the strain of holding back sobs. He could feel Shiro’s strong heartbeat. It felt real, so real.

“Hey, look at me, baby.”

Keith looked up, vision blurry. He had to blink a few times before Shiro’s face came into focus. “W-what?”

Shiro cupped his face with his left hand. His prosthetic right arm had been damaged beyond repair and had been removed. “Don’t cry. It’s okay. I’m here.” He rubbed his thumb over Keith’s wet, scarred cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

There were too many emotions roiling inside Keith’s chest. He felt as if it would explode with the pressure of it all. He was relieved and scared and happy. He had so many questions and so many concerns, and he wanted to voice none of them. He just wanted to gaze into Shiro’s warm eyes, to feel like everything was finally right with the world.

“I love you, Keith.” Shiro delivered the words calmly. He didn’t look away, making sure to keep eye-contact. “I should have told you much sooner. I’m sorry.”

A wave of calm engulfed Keith so suddenly his knees went weak. He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected the words nor the way they would feel like a cool balm. He’d thought he’d panic if Shiro confessed. Instead, everything else was swept away, leaving him with only this. It made things so much easier. _Shiro_ made things so much easier.

“I love you too,” Keith breathed.

Shiro laughed, sounding relieved. Keith chuckled uncertainly, face hot.

“Come here,” Shiro said, patting the bed. He pushed himself to leave some room. “I don’t want you sleeping in that chair.”

Keith didn’t hesitate; he climbed into the bed with relish. Shiro pulled him down against him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. Keith rested his head on Shiro’s chest. The heartbeat he both felt and heard were reassuring, like a lullaby from youth.

“How are you?” Keith asked. “You’ve been out for a whole week.”

“I know. I was… having a bit of chat with Kuro.”

Keith kept quiet, mulling this over. He sifted Shiro’s tone for an indication of what he might think of this situation. There was little to work with; he’d spoken candidly, as he would of something he had no control over like the weather.

“You can talk to him?”

Shiro exhaled, the warm hair ruffling Keith’s hair. “I wouldn’t go as far as saying that we _talk_. We can communicate after a fashion.”

“Are you okay with what we did, Shiro? We didn’t ask before… before doing what we did.”

“I don’t know. I’m honestly thankful to be alive, Keith. This is simply a lot to get used to. A part of me still can’t believe that I nearly died.” He hesitated. “What happened with Commander Sendak? We aren’t in prison so I’m guessing Prince Lotor won the fight.”

Keith recounted the part of the fight that had happened Shiro had been _killed_. Shiro listened silently, his fingers combing distractedly through Keith’s hair. If he was glad that Sendak had been killed, he didn’t show it. He kept quiet afterward, certainly mulling this over. Keith hardly dared move, afraid to shatter the tentative peace that had settled over them.

“Shiro,” he began after a while, “when you said that you, uh, love me, was it you talking or…?”

“Me.”

Blushing stupidly, Keith ducked his head, glad that Shiro couldn’t see his face. He tightened his grasp around Shiro’s waist as happiness surged inside him.

“I should have told you after you confessed over the phone, but I was scared. I didn’t know what to think.”

“Scared?”

Shiro sighed. “I wasn’t sure it was right for me to have feelings for you. For the longest time, you were like a little brother to me. It took me a while before I realised that you were no longer a child.”

“You’re talking as if you’re like twenty years older than me.”

“Seven years can be quite a lot, Keith. It no longer makes a difference, but it did when you were younger. Anyway, as I said, you were still a child to me up until recently.”

“Shiro, how long ago did you realise I wasn’t a kid?”

“Hm, three years ago, perhaps?”

Keith gasped. He raised himself to one elbow, staring down into Shiro’s amused eyes. “Three years?! I could have been with you _three_ years ago?! Urgh! You and your stupid conscience!”

“It was when I came back from…” A pause, then a sigh. “Well, you already know. It was after I was released from Emperor Zarkon’s… service. I saw you and realised that you were all grown up. I didn’t dare say anything then because I was… I wasn’t quite myself. What happened to me in the arena messed me up. I didn’t want to burden you with this. I thought I’d get better and then confess. Things got complicated in the meantime.”

“You aren’t messed up, Shiro.” He lied back down. “Let’s not waste time on the past, eh?”

“We’ll have to discuss it eventually, Keith, but not right now. I’m too tired.”

“You sleep, okay? I’ll keep an eye on you.”

-

Although Shiro had woken up, he was still physically weak from his ordeal. In light of this, the doctors prescribed him bedrest. He couldn’t leave the hospital yet, so Keith stayed with him. He did get stronger every passing day. He could sit up on his own, watch the telly, fiddle away on his PDA, and even eat by himself. Walking took a lot out of him at first. Keith helped him waddle around the room, one hand firmly on his elbow. Shiro didn’t look overly concerned by this weakness so Keith forced himself not to be either. Shiro was a healthy thirty-year-old man, there was no reason he wouldn’t be back on his feet eventually.

The first three days after Shiro woke up, Keith refused entry to any visitor. He didn’t want to tire Shiro up unduly so only medical professionals were allowed into the room. Matt visited and was barred entry, just like Adam, Allura, and even Lotor. Keith didn’t relent despite their annoyance. Shiro said it was cute.

Keith was perhaps a tad too overprotective.

On the fourth day, Adam visited not long after supper. Shiro had napped during the afternoon so Keith judged he’d be strong enough to deal with his demanding ex-boyfriend.

And to make things even better, Adam brought him proper clothes. Keith had been admitted wearing his bodysuit and armour, both of which had been tossed into the trash. He’d been stuck wearing hospital garbs for almost two weeks. He’d asked Adam to find him some clothes, and Adam had gone to the trouble of actually _buying_ him stuff rather than just bringing him an old pair of pants and a shirt. Adam could be nice when he wanted to be.

“I wasn’t sure of your size, so I hope it’ll fit,” Adam said, handing him a bag. He wrinkled his nose. “I also brought you a hairbrush. Hell, kid, your hair looks like a bird’s nest. What have you been doing?”

“Nothing, whatever,” Keith said distractedly. They were standing in front of Shiro’s bedroom door. He pointed at it. “You can see Shiro. Just don’t tire him up too much, okay?”

Adam’s eyes softened. “I won’t. How is he?”

“He seems fine. I can’t tell if it’s an act, though. I mean, he’s got his brain all scrambled, who would be fine with that?”

“Takashi can be surprisingly resilient and tough when he wants to be. I’ll make sure he’s not faking, however. And what about you?”

“I’m fine. My shoulder’s healing nicely.” Keith grinned. “How could I be _not_ fine when I sleep with Shiro every night, eh?”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Urgh, young people in love are the worst. Are _you_ tiring him up?”

“No! I promise! Adam, what do you take me for? We just _sleep_. Doctors come and go at every hour anyway.”

“Good. Well, try those clothes on.”

Keith was about to turn to head for the bathroom when something on Adam’s face stopped him. There was a hint of colour on his cheeks, a rather rare event. He kept fiddling, another thing he rarely did. Keith thought he might be bracing himself for some bad news, but that wasn’t dread that reddened his cheeks. He looked _embarrassed_.

“What is it?” Keith asked, puzzled.

“I, erm, I want to announce something to Takashi and you. Later, though.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “Announce? Hm, sounds mysterious.”

“Just go and change, won’t you, you horrible child?!” Adam grumbled, waving him away.

Keith laughed, unable to stop himself. It was so unusual to see Adam this flustered. Deciding to be merciful, he nodded and made his way towards the bathroom. There were only three patients on this floor; Shiro, Sven, and himself, so the bathroom was mercifully always available. Keith had grown tired of having to piss and shower in front of others after spending so much time at Lotor’s too-tiny HQ. He locked the door with relish, wondering distractedly what Adam might want to announce. It was unlike him to have anything to announce to start with, and even more unlike him to get _excited_.

The clothes Adam bought were unsurprisingly dull: black jeans, grey, long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of boots. The shirt was too big and the pants were too snug around the hips, but least the boots fitted right. It didn’t matter; it just felt good to be out of hospital garb. He brushed his messy hair, wincing at the pull. He did look more presentable now. He glanced in the mirror; the bruises on his face had yet to face. The bandage wrapped around his shoulder showed through the fabric of the shirt. Other than that, he looked more or less fine.

He tried not to think about the fact that those clothes were the only ones he had left now.

As he walked back to Shiro’s room, he noticed a guy loitering, squinting at the numbers written on a plaque beside the door. He had to be the most normal, unremarkable bloke Keith had ever seen: average height, of about thirty, with brown hair, green eyes, pale skin, and a slight layer of fat around the middle. He had a scruffy beard that made him look kind of roguish. Judging by his clothes, he was from a middle-class background.

“Can I help you?” Keith asked, not liking when strangers sniffed around his people.

The guy looked surprise to be addressed. He then smiled brightly. “Ah, yes, actually! I’m looking for Adam Wagner? He said he’d be here, but he didn’t give me the room’s number.”

“Ah. Adam’s visiting a friend right now. It’s not the best time.”

“Yes, I know. He told me he wanted to introduce me.” Light seemed to dawn on the guy as he looked Keith up and down. “Oh! You’re Keith, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Do I know you?”

“I’m _Metro-guy_.”

For a second, Keith had absolutely no idea what this guy was going on about. Then, understanding hit him like a ton of bricks. Metro-guy, the guy who’d been making eyes at Adam in the skymetro. Adam had mentioned him once in a while in the past, always in the vaguest terms. Keith hadn’t known what to think of the situation, mostly because it had seemed odd to him that someone other than Shiro could be attracted to Adam. Adam hadn’t been very forthcoming about his own emotions either so Keith hadn’t known whether this flirtation had been angling towards anything serious.

Metro-guy being here, at the hospital, meant this had to be serious. Very serious. Adam wouldn’t have invited him over otherwise. Was this what he’d been so excited about earlier? Was Adam excited at the thought of introducing his… friend to Shiro and him? Keith found the prospect oddly sweet.

“Ah.” Keith said, floundering a little. “Sorry for the nickname. Adam never told me your name so, uh, yeah.”

The guy laughed, sounding pleased. “It’s fine! For the longest time I referred to Adam as ‘the handsome bloke with the glasses from the metro’.” He grinned ruefully. “It’s taken a while before he coughed up his name.”

Keith scoffed. “I’m not surprised. So, you got a name or do I have to keep calling you Metro-guy?”

“I’m Caleb. Nice to finally meet you, Keith.” A wink. “Though you can keep calling me Metro-guy if you prefer.”

They shook hands. “Nice to meet you too, Caleb. Come on, you’ve got the right room.” Keith opened the door, saying: “Adam, I found your lost puppy in the corridor.”

Adam frowned, looking up at him. He was sitting on the chair that had become Keith’s permanent place over the past week. When he spotted Caleb, his face flushed. He hurriedly got to his feet, much to Shiro’s confusion.

Keith tried not to feel too much amusement at Adam’s apparent embarrassment. He watched the two of them interact as he sat in the vacated chair. Adam was a bit taller than Caleb and it was easy to see that he was the one in charge of the relationship. He spoke in a low voice to the other man, face still a bit red. The look in Caleb’s eyes could only be described as worshipful. He looked at Adam as if he’d hung the moon in the sky. He didn’t appear to be a carpet, though, simply in love.

Shiro clearly had no idea what was happening and who this new guy was. Keith glanced at him, unsure how he’d take the news that Adam had someone new in his life. Shiro and Adam had broken up five years ago, yet they’d remained very close to each other nonetheless. They’d been lovers for most of those five years, Shiro running when Adam called. They were still fond of each other. They’d gotten over the bitterness of the separation to become good friends. Still, it changed nothing to the fact that they’d been each other’s first love. Keith sensed there would still be at least one string attached, and he was willing to accept that.

“So, erm,” Adam began, pushing his glasses up his nose, “there’s something I’d like to tell you.” He crossed his arms over his chest, face colouring again. “I, I mean, we—“

“You could at least introduce him to Shiro,” Keith interrupted.

“Ah, yes, of course. Takashi, this is Caleb. Caleb, this is Takashi.”

Though technically still bedridden, Shiro nonetheless got up and went to shake Caleb’s hand. Keith tried to observe them and Adam at the same time, a sort of trepidation making his heart beat faster. Shiro was obviously the better looking of the two—he was taller, broader, muscled, effortlessly handsome with a charming, welcoming smile. Many men would have felt intimated by it. Not Caleb. He didn’t flinch or puff up to make himself look bigger. He shook Shiro’s hand warmly, looking genuinely pleased to meet him. He exuded such quiet confidence that even Keith wasn’t left unaffected by it.

And Adam looked vulnerable for a second. Keith hadn’t seen this often and it disconcerted him a little. Adam had clearly been dreading this meeting. He wanted both his ex-boyfriend and his current boyfriend to be on good terms. It made sense—if Keith went out with Shiro and still spent a lot of time with Adam, they’d see each other often. If Caleb was with Adam when it happened, Shiro and he had to be able to be cordial to each other.

It suddenly struck Keith as odd that Adam would worry about such a thing. Shiro would never, ever stand in the way of his happiness. Perhaps there was a smidge of jealousy and regret in Shiro’s eyes as he smiled at Caleb, but it was understandable—Adam was a fine bloke. Shiro and he had been through so much together it was impossible they’d ever be strangers again.

“We’re getting married,” Adam blurted out the second the introductions were over with.

Both Keith and Shiro froze. This was totally unexpected. Keith stared at the man he considered an older brother, flabbergasted. Adam was red, both from embarrassment and annoyance at their disbelieving staring. Beside him, Caleb just kept smiling, standing tall and proud. This couldn’t be a joke because Adam didn’t joke. He especially wouldn’t joke about something like that.

“Congratulations,” Shiro said, sounding quite stunned. He cleared his throat, then smiled. “I mean it, Adam. Congratulations. I’m so happy for the both of you.”

“Aren’t you going to say something clever?” Adam asked Keith.

“Adam, be nice,” Caleb said gently. “You’ve taken them by surprise. They didn’t even know my name ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah, Adam, be nice,” Keith approved with a nod. “I like him, so you can marry him if you want. Maybe he’ll give you a good dicking and you won’t be as grumpy.”

“Oh, I’ve given him plenty of good dickings, and he’s still his grumpy, adorable self,” Caleb said without missing a beat.

Keith’s eyes widened. Adam looked ready to explode while Shiro just stood there, a small, uncertain, half-smile on his face. Caleb just grinned.


	47. Chapter 47

“You’re really a horrible brat,” Adam grumbled, face red.

Keith sank further into his seat, trying not to grin at the other man. “What, you didn’t expect me to get along with Caleb?”

“I didn’t expect you to get buddy-buddy this quick! I should have known. You’re so immature, the both of you. And don’t put your feet on the dashboard!”

Keith dug the sole of his boots into the dashboard with emphasis, blinking innocently “What?”

“I ought to let you walk to the skydocks.”

“I’m recovering from injuries. I can’t walk.”

“Right.” Adam rolled his eyes.

Keith turned his attention to the landscape slowly zipping by. They were following the coastal road overlooking the river. The school island where the fight against Sendak had taken place still stood there ominously. According to the images on the news, the whole building in itself had been razed. Little was left standing: the grass was scorched, the trees had been uprooted, the metro station had been utterly destroyed. Keith had felt oddly wistful when he’d seen that. He had hated the place, it just sucked that it had been reduced to rubbles that way. Lotor had said he would eventually have the whole island sunk into the river. He didn’t want any remnant of the war to be left behind. Priority number one was to replace the bridge however so, for now, the island still stood there.

Work crews had begun dismantling the bridge itself a week ago. Although it had only been five days, Keith already saw progress. Half of the structure was just… gone. It would be dismantled, the good pieces reused for the new bridge. Lotor wanted it to be much larger and not regulated, so people could travel from lower town to upper town without fuss. There was stiff opposition against that idea that Lotor had yet to go through. Despite being the new Galra emperor, he wasn’t that well-liked.

Well, the low towners worshipped him while the up towners, for the most part, vilified him. There had been unrest in upper town ever since Sendak’s death, enough to make Keith worry. Lotor seemed to be handling things well for the moment however so he tried not to waste too much time thinking about it. There were no more contestants for the throne so the empire was stuck with Lotor, whether they were pleased or not.

The problem was that not all of the Galras’ allies approved of the new emperor. As Lotor had explained it, many other planets had benefited from Zarkon’s way of ruling. They were now feeling threatened by Lotor and his more peacemaking attitude. A lot of planets were pulling back their support quietly. Ambassadors had been leaving Earth as fast as their ship could carry them to outer space.

And, to Keith’s dismay, Wor was one of them. Kaax'oits had annulled its treaties with the empire and was recalling its ambassadors home. He really shouldn’t be surprised; what he knew of Kaax'oits’ ways went against everything that Lotor believed him. There would be no more slave trade. Keith was glad of it, even if it meant Wor had to leave.

He’d sent Keith a text three days ago to announce his upcoming departure and had asked him if he’d like to meet one last time. Wor had been busy with preparations so there hadn’t been time before today, a few hours before he was set to leave.

The thought of Wor leaving made Keith feel strangely hollow. He’d known it was coming, yet he found himself unprepared for it. He’d wished they’d had more time together, as friends. Keith had liked answering Wor’s weird questions, even if most of them had left him baffled. Wor had been refreshing in his honesty. Keith saw him more than a mere client of his old trade. Wor had become a dear friend, the kind that could be counted on. Hadn’t he helped Keith get rid of Uncle Pedro without asking a question? He’d been supportive and kind and funny in his odd way. Keith wished he could have stayed longer so he could have met Shiro and Adam properly—he was pretty sure Adam and he would have gotten along marvellously.

“You’re truly going to miss this guy,” Adam noted. “You’ve been sighing for the last fifteen minutes.”

“Yeah. He was sweet. He asked me to marry him as a joke, once, and if it hadn’t been for Shiro, I might have said yes.”

“Keith, you can’t be serious.”

“Kind of. It probably wouldn’t have worked out, but it was a nice thought. I like how nice he is.”

“I’m sure there are plenty other nice _human_ men.”

“Sure, I just didn’t know them.”

Keith saw Adam throwing him an exasperated look out the corner of his eye. He said nothing, enjoying the relatively peaceful silence between the two of them.

It was the first time Keith was leaving the hospital ever since being admitted a couple of weeks ago. Even after he’d recovered, he’d remained by Shiro’s side. Shiro had offered to give him the key to his flat so he could stay there, and Adam had made the safe offer, but he had refused. He didn’t want to leave either Shiro or Sven out of his sight for the moment. He felt protective. There would be no peace of mind, no resting, if they weren’t within walking distance.

Getting out did feel good, though. Hospitals had never been very high on the list of Keith’s favourite places to be. He hated the chemically clean smells, the overbearing presence of doctors, and the proximity of sick people. Despite this, he would have willingly remained with Shiro if not for Wor’s text. Shiro had told him to go, that he’d survive on his own for a couple of hours. Keith had hesitate until he’d realised that maybe Shiro wanted to spend some time alone too. For the last couple of weeks, there had always been someone in his room with him, be it a nurse or Keith or a well-meaning friends. Matt had visited with Pidge a few times, as had many coworkers. Shiro had hardly had a minute to himself since he’d _died_.

Keith tried not to think about this. Tried not to think about the fact that Shiro refused to talk about this. Keith couldn’t force him—it’d make him a hypocrite. Adam and he had teamed up in their effort to convince him to see a therapist because nobody should have to die then come back to life and not be able to talk about it. Shiro had said he’d consider it. Adam had told Keith to preach by example. His answer had been the same as Shiro’s.

“When are you getting married?” Keith asked to distract himself.

Although Adam _wanted_ to get married, he got flustered whenever it was mentioned. He did so this time too, face turning red and shoulders hunching. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“It hasn’t been decided yet.”

“Did you actually _told_ Caleb to ask you to marry him?”

“This is not quite how it happened.”

Keith snorted. “Uh, yeah, it is? He showed me the text you sent him. You know, just before the one you sent me about loving me and me being the greatest little brother a man could dream of having?”

“You make me regret this moment of weakness so much…” Adam groaned. “Why do you have to be on such friendly terms with Caleb, anyway? It’s like a nightmare.”

“Don’t say that. Would you have preferred we be at each other’s throat all the time? No, so stop complaining for once.”

Adam grunted in annoyance, though the set of his features had softened. Keith reached out the pat his shoulder amicably. To be honest, he hadn’t quite expected to get along with Adam’s new boyfriend. Ever since he’d known Adam and Shiro, they’d been either together or pining for each other. It was odd to imagine Adam with someone else, probably as much as it was odd to know Shiro was with _him_ rather than with Adam.

Well, he thought Shiro and he were together. Although Shiro had confessed after waking up, there had been no more talk of feelings. They did sleep together in the cramped hospital bed. They held hands and touched casually all the time. Keith helped Shiro dress or eat since it was awkward doing so with only one hand. Shiro kissed his hair when they cuddled, but they hadn’t _kissed_ yet. Keith didn’t press despite a tiny part of himself fearing the worst. Shiro needed time. Shiro needed time to get accustomed to his new body, to his new life, to the thought that he now shared his mind with someone else, that he’d been cloned, that he had his own demons as well as Kuro’s to deal with, that he’d kind of died, that his disease no longer plagued him. He didn’t need an insecure boyfriend to top it all off. Keith would be content with what he was given.

Even if it made him insecure as hell.

They reached the sky docks as the cold rain relented. The sky docks were situated somewhat outside the city, away from any major buildings and habitations. They were huge, tall platforms erected above ground-level where outer space ships docked. The place always buzzed with activity no matter the hour. It was also well-guarded. Gawkers weren’t allowed in. Only those who had business with the docks could walk the grounds unimpeded.

Adam parked his car in the huge parking lot already filled to the brim. Hundreds of people—aliens and humans both—were leaving Earth in the wake of Lotor’s ascension to the Galran throne. The exodus had begun the second Lotor had been confirmed as new emperor. Many of Sendak’s sympathizers had been amongst the first to turn tail, though a lot remained nonetheless. Aliens who had dealt with Sendak were also leaving. Lotor didn’t want that—he was willing to trade with anyone and to uphold old treaties. He kept assuring everybody that there wouldn’t be retaliation towards those who had sided against him during the war. Few believed him. Keith didn’t know if it was possible for Lotor to rule while so many people were against him. He hadn’t asked what the prince—no, the emperor—intended to do in reality. He didn’t care much.

“I’ll be back in a while,” Keith said.

“Take your time. I’ve brought work.”

Adam took a tablet from the backseat and Keith got off the car.

Winds buffeted him as he made his way towards the entrance of the main building. He pulled his hat lower over his ears, shivering. He’d started minding the cold after nearly dying of hypothermia. Now, it felt as if he were never truly quite warm enough.

The huge building felt welcoming after the freezing air outside. Keith paused inside the door, looking around to get his bearings. He’d never come here. He had no idea where to go. Wor had said to meet him at the dock number 38-B. The maelstrom of aliens and humans with their luggage hurrying about made things even more chaotic. Keith had trouble pushing his way through the crowd towards a huge, bright sign hanging from the ceiling. This seemed to be the schedule for arrivals and departures.

He stared at it for a moment. Someone could just buy a ticket, climb on a ship, and reach a planet outside this solar system. It was mind boggling.

Keith found a young woman wearing a uniform who kindly indicated the shortest way for him to reach dock 38-B. Down long, winding corridors he went, trying not to gawk like a country bumpkin. Although the sky docks were just over his head, there was barely a sound bleeding through the high ceiling. Announcements were made over speakers, calling travelers to be at their gate ready for departures. The busy air invigorated him somehow.

He left the more public part of the building and was made to prove his identity to enter the private section. This was where rich and important folks dwelled, far from the ordinary mob. The security guard narrowed his eyes at him, glancing between his face and his PDA. Keith did his best to look innocent. When his identity checked out, he was waved through with annoyance.

There were fewer people and aliens here. Those he met were all well-dressed and didn’t even spare him a look. Most were Galras, which wasn’t that surprising since the Galras had always been the richest and most influential. He followed the indications plastered on the walls towards the right gate that would lead him to the right dock.

Keith recognized Wor from a distance. He seemed to be busy discussing with a few, short aliens with oddly-featureless faces. The small creatures, barely bigger than a toddler, scurried around, carrying all sorts of boxes and objects. They wore no clothes, though their body was as featureless as their face.

“You never told me you had kids,” Keith said at Wor’s elbow.

Wor turned, visibly taken aback not to have heard him coming. He wore his suit and hat just like he always did, looking disturbingly human from the chin down. Keith was no longer taken aback by his appearance. When he glanced about at the travelers milling about, nobody glanced twice at him either.

“Kids? Oh, those? No, they are slaves from planet Jezic.”

Keith looked at the small aliens going on about their business in a mechanical way. “Ah. Brainwashed?”

“Naturally. Do you want me to tell them to go away? Are they disturbing you?”

Keith chuckled. “No, no. Let them do whatever they have to do.” He looked up at the other, smiling. “So, you’re on your way out.”

Wor sighed. Though nothing on his face moved, he did look sad. It was in the set of his shoulders, in the air around him. “Yes. Since my leader doesn’t approve of Emperor Lotor, I’m being called home. I’m sorry to say I failed my task of trying to smooth things over between them.”

“That doesn’t mean it’ll last forever. Lotor’s charming, he’ll find his way in the good graces of your leader soon enough.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ll be the one sent back to Earth as ambassador.”

“What, no?”

“No. As I said, I failed my task, and failure cannot be recompensed.”

Keith’s eyes widened. “That’s ridiculous! It’s not your fault your leader doesn’t like Lotor! Wait, are you in trouble because of that?”

Wor shrugged. “I cannot say. My leader is cross with me but, by the time I arrive home, he’ll have cooled down. It’s sweet of you to worry for me, darling.”

“If you’re in trouble, why don’t you just stay?”

“I don’t run from my problems, Keith. I believe we are the same in this.”

“Yeah, but knowing your folk, your problems might get you killed or brainwashed or whatever else kind of torture you guys are into.”

Wor laughed, not sounding worried at all. “I promise you that I won’t go down that easily.”

Keith pouted. “That’s good.” He hesitated, digging his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “But seriously though, will you be back eventually?”

There was a short pause. “I doubt it very much, darling. If I come back, it might not be in your lifetime. Traveling to Kaax'oits is a very long journey. It takes a lot of preparations.”

“That means we’ll never see each other again.”

Keith had known this, and having confirmation hurt. His heart squeezed in his chest. He’d never expected he’d ever get this attached to someone after such a short time, especially to someone who’d been a client.

“I’m afraid not, darling. Please, don’t cry. I couldn’t stand it.”

Keith blinked hard to dry his eyes a little. He knew he wasn’t crying, he just couldn’t risk it. Damn it, he hadn’t cried in more than a decade until Shiro had _died_ , and now it was as if his stupid eyes were leaky faucets.

“I’m going to miss you,” he admitted in a low voice. “It sucks that you can’t stay.”

“I know.” Wor gently touched Keith’s cheek. “I’ll miss you too, darling. It’s a relief to know you are safe and happy, however.”

“I wish _you_ were safe and happy too.”

“Well, I’m as happy as someone from my race can be, I suppose. I’m happy to have met you, and I’m happy knowing you are happy here with your policeman. How is he?”

“He’s fine. He’ll be released from the hospital the day after tomorrow. There’s no reason to keep him since he’s bodily healthy.”

“I’m quite certain that you’ll be able to heal his soul.”

Keith scoffed. “I don’t know about that, but I sure will try.”

“And what will you do now?”

“I don’t know…” He trailed off, thinking. “I’m considering going back to school, perhaps. If I finish high school, I’ll have more chances of finding a good job. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to do it.” Keith shook his head. “It depends on a lot of things. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Whatever you choose to do, I have no doubt you’ll succeed.”

“I want to be a pilot,” Keith blurted out. “I want to see the stars. You’re so lucky not to be grounded like me.”

This seemed to surprise Wor. “Is that so? Have you never travelled away from Earth?”

“No. I’ve never had the money. If I can become a pilot, then I’ll be able to travel wherever I want.”

“That’s true. I’m quite sure you’d be a marvelous pilot, darling.”

“You’re just being nice. You can’t know that. I can’t even drive a car.”

“Can’t you?”

Keith grinned sheepishly. “I don’t have my license, but yeah, I can drive a car.”

The small, brainwashed slaves were back again, having presumably finished loading whatever baggage a man like Wor carried. They clustered around their master, unmoving, kind of creepy, really.

“I believe it’s time for me to go,” Wor said sadly. “There’s so much traffic that I cannot hog the dock all day, not even for you.”

All good cheer vanished from Keith’s heart. He nodded. “All right.”

Without hesitation, Keith stepped to Wor and pulled him in a hug. They’d never touched that way in public. Keith didn’t care—it seemed to be the right thing to do. Wor hugged him back after a pause of hesitation. The press of his body through their clothes had become familiar.

“Even though we’ll never see each other in person again, surely there’s a way we can keep in contact?” Keith asked, face pressed into the other’s shoulder.

“Yes, don’t worry. I’ll still be able to call you, though the transmission might be slow and unreliable. Keep me updated on your life, Keith. I want to know how you’re doing.”

Keith nodded. “Same for you, Wor.”

Wor stepped back. His one good eye looked quite shiny suddenly. “Very well. Goodbye, darling.”

“Goodbye.”

-

Keith didn’t quite cry, but he did hide his face in Adam’s jacket when he got back to the car. Adam patted his head gently, shushing him, being gentle enough to actually make Keith want to cry.

He pulled back with a sniff, turning his head away rapidly. Adam mercifully said nothing. He put the car in gear and they drove back to the hospital in silence. Keith kept his gaze away from the sky docks. His insides felt wobbly. His eyes were hot. It was so unlike him to get this emotional. He hadn’t expected Wor’s departure to hurt him this much. He wished suddenly they’d had more time together, more time to just sit down and talk, get to know each other better. Keith hoped Wor hadn’t lied when he’d said they could keep in contact despite the immense distance between their two planets.

He had to look as bad as he felt because Adam stopped by a coffee shop and bought him a doughnut and a hot chocolate.

“You’re too scrawny,” was the only explanation he volunteered when Keith looked at him in puzzlement. “And don’t get crumbs all over the seat!”

He took a sip of his beverage to hide his fond smile.

The ride back to the hospital was quiet, Keith focusing his attention on his food. Lance was supposed to drop by tomorrow to bring him what had been salvaged from their apartment, money included. Keith knew all that was left of their old life together was what had been hidden in the shed behind their tenement building. They had nothing left but the clothes on their back. Lance and his family, Hunk, Allura, and Fala had been living with Pidge in her family’s apartment. Keith didn’t envy them their cramped quarters. Although Lotor had said he’d do his best to find them all a place to live, it wasn’t at the top of his list of priorities, not by a long shot. Keith had no doubt that Lance would find a way on his own, as he always did. This guy was nothing if not resourceful.

Keith himself didn’t know where he’d go next. He’d assumed he’d move in with Shiro, he just hadn’t quite dared asking him about it yet. He sighed—they really needed to have a sit down and talk about everything. Too bad they both sucked at words.

They reached the hospital not long before supper. Adam dropped him off at the door, telling him to rest and eat properly, and generally being an overprotective mother hen. Keith nodded dutifully.

He stopped by Sven’s room before rejoining Shiro. Sven was fast asleep, the blankets pulled up under his chin. The alien named Slav sat beside the bed, wringing his four pairs of hands in worry. It was odd seeing him so calm while he was usually running about shouting and being annoying.

“How is he?” Keith asked, keeping his voice low.

“He’s fine,” Slav answered. “He’s just tired all the time. He said he wanted to talk to you and Shiro, but he fell asleep.”

“Ah. Well, we’re here until tomorrow, and otherwise he can drop by Shiro’s flat anytime he likes.”

Slav said nothing, continuing with his hand wringing. Keith wasn’t sure he understood the worry: Sven was fine. Sure, he’d been badly hurt—he’d lost a lot of blood, been dunked in freezing water for a long time, and been shot at, but that wasn’t enough to keep him down. When asked, the doctors had told Keith that Sven was recovering very fast, which could be attributed to the Galra blood in his veins. One of his parents had to have been at least half-Galra, they said.

Without quite knowing why, Keith patted Sven’s black hair. He looked peaceful in repose, his face unlined and body slack. All the while Slav watched him, eyes narrowed as if in calculation. Keith tried not to let this get to him—Shiro had warned him that Slav was weird by anyone’s standards.

Once satisfied with the man’s condition, Keith left the room quietly to rejoin Shiro. Since he could move about the hospital unaided now, maybe they could grab supper at the cafeteria downstairs. It would be a nice change from eating in his sickroom. Shiro needed to be up and about to build up his strength anyway.

Keith paused on the threshold—there was someone else with Shiro already, clearly not a doctor judging by the man’s civilian clothes. Shiro and the man were discussing in low voices easily, both of them too engrossed to notice Keith standing there. There was a fond look on Shiro’s face and the other guy was clearly drinking in his every word.

When he reached out to put his hand over Shiro’s, Keith walked in, clearing his throat loudly. They both looked up at him, surprised.

“Oh, Keith, you’re back,” Shiro said with a smile. “Come here, let me introduce you to Curtis. He’s a friend from work.”

Keith approached the bed cautiously, extending his hand for a handshake out of habit.

This Curtis guy got to his feet nervously and shook his hand, smiling uncertainly as he gave Keith an onceover. Curtis had to be a few years younger than Shiro, with dark brown hair, blue eyes, and dark skin. He was tall, managing to be both gangly and lightly muscled at the same time. He looked utterly ill-at-ease as he stood there with his shoulders hunched.

 _Guy from work_ didn’t quite cut it. Keith could tell there was more to it than Shiro was willing to offer. He felt a surge of jealous annoyance the likes of which hadn’t plagued him for years. Curtis was kind of cute and exactly the type of men Shiro seemed to appreciate. And Curtis seemed to be totally into Shiro, eyes darting back to him once in a while as if to see if he’d gained his approval.

“And Curtis, this is Keith.”

Keith tried not to be disappointed that Shiro didn’t introduce him as _my boyfriend_. Curtis did seem to get the message, though. His expression saddened somewhat. He nodded politely at Keith, bade good recovery to Shiro, and excused himself. He was out the door and down the corridor before Keith had time to open his mouth.

“So, uh,” Keith began, uncertain. “You okay?”

Shiro sat on his bed looking kind of dejected. He’d shucked the hospital garb for sweatpants and a t-shirt. His white hair still needed getting used to. He hadn’t shaved for more than a week and stubble covered his cheeks and chin. Despite the outward appearance of roguish handsomeness, there was a fragile look to him that Keith didn’t know what to make of. They used to be so close. Back when they were only friends, Keith would have sat beside Shiro and snuggled with him until he felt better. Now, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He was afraid of making the wrong move, of stepping on sore toes.

What had changed? Nothing. They were still the same Shiro and Keith. Keith was making things more complicated than they were.

He climbed on the bed beside Shiro, surprising him, and wrapped his arms around his neck to pull him in a hug. Shiro tensed for half a second before relaxing completely. He rested his head on Keith’s shoulder, his soft hair tickling his chin. Their hands found each other, their fingers intertwining easily.

“I was with Curtis for a short while,” Shiro explained in a soft voice. “We… kept each other company.” He exhaled. “No, I mean, we slept together. Better be honest about it.”

Keith had kind of guessed. He didn’t know what to think of this. He tried not to be jealous: Shiro was an adult, he could damn well do as he pleased.

“He’s a lucky bloke,” he said wryly.

Shiro huffed a short laugh. “We were terrible together, Keith.” Although Keith couldn’t see his face, he saw that the tipped of his ears reddened. “Curtis isn’t like you or Adam. He never took the lead. We’d just… talk for minutes about what to do rather than just go on with things. It was awkward and not that satisfying.”

Oh, this was something he hadn’t expected to hear. “Hm, I see.”

“I’m sorry we haven’t…” Shiro trailed off. He groaned in embarrassment. “I’m sorry I haven’t kissed you yet, Keith. It just doesn’t seem right to kiss you in a hospital. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer if we wait to be home.”

Home. Keith tightened his grip on Shiro’s hand. He’d said _home_. It meant they were moving in together. He hoped Shiro couldn’t hear the mad galloping of his heart.

“I’d like that.”

“Do you know that Kuro has a running commentary going on in my head?”

“No? What do you mean?”

“I mean that he likes to comment on everything that I do and everything that’s going on. He has an opinion on everything. He really isn’t like me in that matter.” Shiro chuckled. “Anyway. He, erm, also likes to push images on me. Of… well, of anything, but his favourite trick is to… _show_ me what you did with him.”

Keith’s face warmed. It was odd to think that Shiro and Kuro could kind of communicate. “Do you mind it? Does it bother you? It’s not hurting you, isn’t it?”

“No. He’s nice, Keith. It’s not as if he keeps me awake or torture me mentally, quite the opposite. If I told him to be quiet, he would. He simply seems to enjoy teasing me a bit.”

“Oh. As long as you don’t mind it. I’m sorry, this must be so weird for you.”

“It’s weird, but I’ll get used to it eventually. I’ll never get bored when I’m on my own, that’s for sure.”

Shiro turned this into a joke so Keith wouldn’t worry. He’d always done that, downplaying stuff so those around him wouldn’t worry too much.

“You know, I always thought you were hot with sweatpants,” Keith blurted out.

This startled a laugh out of Shiro. “What?”

“Yeah. When I was a kid and you’d wear sweatpants, I’d get all flustered. Once, when I was home with you and Adam, you fell asleep on the couch and Adam caught me staring at your crotch.”

Shiro raised his head to look at him, eyes wide. “So that’s why Adam told me to stop wearing sweatpants!”

Keith laughed, embarrassed. “Yeah, I suppose.” He ducked his head. “Sorry, that’s a weird thing to say. I just… I’ve always loved you, you know? No, I mean, I hated you when I first met you—”

“You hated me?!”

“Err, well, a bit? You were this handsome, big, tall, cool, rich policeman and you made me feel shabby and dumb. It wasn’t your fault, every adult made me feel that way. I wanted to hate you so much, but I could never really, you know? You were so nice to everybody. You never backed down or abandoned when the other kids refused to listen to you. You just struggled on. We all loved you, back at the youth centre. Well, I loved you most of all, of course. What I’m trying to say is that you’re such a great person that you got a bunch of messed up teenagers to get along for one hour every evening. I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this…! Shiro, it’s just, hm, I’ve always loved you and I want you to know you can tell me anything, okay? I-I know I’m not smart or resourceful like Adam, but I’ll do my best to help you. If you don’t feel okay about something, just tell me.”

Shiro had sat up straight to look at Keith properly. His eyes had softened. For some reason, they looked brown now rather than dark grey.

He gently cupped Keith’s face in his good hand. “Keith, baby, I know. I know. And the same goes for you. I think the problem is that we are both exceptionally bad at talking about our feelings, don’t you think? We have to try to get over this. I want things to work between us. If you think I’m doing something stupid, I need you to tell me.”

Keith blurted out: “I think you’re stupid for not kissing me.”

Shiro’s eyes widened. Keith thought he’d offended him until he burst into relieved laughter.

“You know what? I think you’re right, I’m being very stupid. Let me remedy that.”

He bent and kissed him softy, a gentle pressure of lips against lips.

Keith got the idea it would be all right.


	48. Chapter 48

“Are you sure I shouldn’t shave?” Shiro asked, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. “I look scruffy.”

Keith hid the razor behind his back. “You look absolutely handsome, puppy.”

“Do you think I should dye my hair?” Shiro plucked at his white forelock, pouting. “I’m thirty, I shouldn’t have white hair.”

“No! No, don’t do that! You know, it makes you look younger for some reason? And you’re still very handsome.”

Shiro groaned, hanging his head. “Can’t we stay in the hospital for another couple of years?”

Keith’s heart melted. He went to stand beside Shiro in front of the bathroom sink, bumping their shoulders together. “No, but we can stay in your flat for as long as you like. There won’t be any doctor probing and poking at you there at least.”

“I’d like that. I’d like to be able to spend some time alone with you. It feels as if we haven’t had a chance to properly talk for so long.”

“We’ll find something, I promise, puppy.” He added as a joke: “I still have my father’s shack in the desert as a last resort.”

Shiro turned to him, looking excited. “Keith, that’s a marvellous idea! How about we spend some time there, only you and me? We’d be alone and nobody would bother us. What do you say?”

Keith spluttered. “I-I, I said that as a joke. I mean, not that I don’t want to, but the shack’s a mess. Nobody’s lived there for years. Everything’s covered in dust.”

“Yes. That means we could put it back into order. It’s big enough for the both of us. We could easily come back to the city once a week for supplies. The rest of the time, we could explore the desert and just be together.”

Keith stared into Shiro’s excited face, flabbergasted. His excitement was such that it could be felt. It seemed to fill the small hospital bathroom like a cloud of perfume. Keith couldn’t be left unaffected. It wasn’t that farfetched an idea: the shack was habitable. It wasn’t broken down beyond repair. There was a well for drinking water and a stove for food and warmth and a generator for electricity. Surely they could put it all back in order between the two of them.

He had no difficulty imagining it, the two of them living there, wasting the hours away. He wanted to explore the desert with Shiro, to lay a blanket on the sand at night to watch the stars, to wake up late in the morning with nothing to do but enjoy each other’s presence. He’d be alone with Shiro without anyone to bother them.

“I used to dream of that when I was a kid,” Keith admitted shyly.

Shiro smiled. “Then let’s do it. We’ll wait until I can get my prosthetic fixed, and then we’ll go.”

Shiro’s prosthetic arm had been destroyed during the battle. Lotor himself had contacted the engineer who’d made the first one and told him to make a second, better one. It would be ready sometimes later in the week. In the meantime, Shiro had to go about one-handed. He was good-natured about it, though he didn’t quite like being helped without asking for it first.

“Chief Holt won’t mind letting you go on extended leave?” Keith asked once they were back in the room.

“No. He said I can take all the time I need. He’s been asking me to take some vacations for years anyway.”

Keith was glad of it. Matt had told him out of Shiro’s earshot that things were a mess back at the police station. Everybody was being worked off their feet. Shiro wouldn’t have been an exception if he’d showed up at work.

And if the chief hadn’t allowed Shiro some time off, well, Keith would have paid him a visit.

“Adam is set to pick us up in half an hour,” Keith said, looking at the time on his PDA. “I’m really looking forward to leaving this place. If I never see another hospital again, it’ll be too soon.”

Shiro smiled. “Right back at you. We should—”

There was a knock at the open door. They both turned to see Sven standing on the threshold, looking embarrassed to have interrupted. His left arm was in a sling and there was a thick pad of gauze on his cheek but, other than that, he looked healthy enough.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but could I talk to you? The both of you. It’s rather important.”

Keith exchanged a glance with Shiro, then nodded.

Sven closed the door behind him. “You might want to sit down for this.”

They both sat on the bed, equally puzzled. Keith remembered that he’d made Sven swear to have a chat with him once they were out of danger. Was this it, then? Would Sven finally tell them who he really was and how he’d come by all that knowledge? His pulse quickened in anticipation.

Sven looked nervous as he tried to gather the courage to talk. He didn’t sat down, preferring to stand awkwardly by the door.

“All right. I will begin by assuming that you both know about alternate realities?” They nodded. “It’s been speculated about whether or not they exist. There are hundreds of theories leaning each way. Well, I’m telling you, they do exist. I’m from one of them.”

He paused there to give them time to digest this information.

Okay, Sven was from another reality? Keith wasn’t sure he believed that. He didn’t say anything, opting to listen rather than ask questions right away.

“The world is quite different where I’m from, though it seems to follow the same timeline as this reality here. I was born two years ago. I’m thirty-two. When I’m born, the Galras have been the overlords of Earth for a very long time. They’ve drained the planet of most of its resources. Humans and aliens alike survive by living in small, nomadic groups always on the move. Getting captured by the Galras mean being sent either to mine for quintessence or to a terraforming colony far away. Emperor Zarkon reigns with an iron fist. My parents are part of a group known as the Guns of Gamara. They are resistance fighters. They want to free Earth from Emperor Zarkon’s grasp. They don’t succeed, I’m afraid to say. Earth was crumbling on itself when I was sent here. Emperor Zarkon killed one of my fathers when I was twenty, and Prince Lotor killed my second father not long before I left.”

“Wait—”

Sven’s lips quirked up momentarily, as if he knew they’d get stuck on that particular detail. “I was born in a test tube. DNA from both my fathers was taken and inserted in an artificial womb. It’s feasible in this timeline too, merely uncommon and quite costly. So yes, I have two fathers and I am biologically related to both of them.”

“Why were you sent here?” Shiro asked.

Sven hesitated a moment, looking away. “I wanted to save my parents. I travelled to many, many timelines before arriving here. Each time, I watched them die. Sometimes, they’d already died by the time I arrived. Others, I fought beside them to save them, to no avail.”

“What? Sven, you should have said something. Maybe we can help? Maybe it’s not too late in this timeline?” Keith said.

“It’s not too late, they’re both safe. I killed Emperor Zarkon and Prince Lotor turned out to be the exact opposite of the one from my own time.”

Keith opened his mouth. Closed it. Shiro gaped at Sven.

“You killed Zarkon?!” Keith exclaimed.

“The man dressed in black…” Shiro murmured. He looked Sven up and down. “Yes, I can see it now. Someone from another reality altogether would have access to a different technology that’s untraceable for us.”

Sven nodded. “That’s exactly it. We are far more advanced in weaponry in my timeline. That’s why I could use that canon that shot down Emperor Zarkon’s ship. Since I grew up expecting to fight Galras, it’s why I can handle explosives and weapons. My uncle, Slav, made sure I got a useful education in physics, chemistry, and everything else in between.”

“Wait, _Slav_ is from another reality?!” Shiro asked, flabbergasted. He added in a low breath: “That explains some things…”

“He is. He worked for the police to keep an eye on Commander Sendak, Emperor Zarkon, and Prince Lotor.” Sven paused. “And on my father.”

Keith’s ears started ringing for some reason. Shiro said something that he didn’t quite catch. He looked at Sven, _really_ looked at him. What was the first thing he’d thought when he’d seen him? That he looked like Shiro, so much to be almost like a sibling. It hadn’t only been a first impression—his way of talking, his expressions, they all reminded him of Shiro at some degree.

“Sven,” Keith began, feeling faint. “Sven, what’s the name of your father?”

Concerned, Shiro rested a hand on Keith’s shoulder.

For the first time since this conversation began, Sven looked up, looked directly at both of them.

And Keith knew.

“Takashi Shirogane,” Sven confirmed with a small nod. “And Keith Shirogane.”

He knew but damn did it feel like a punch to the guts. His legs went weak and he was glad to already be sitting down. Sven kept quiet while they absorbed the news. Keith suddenly remembered that Nadia, Lance’s niece, had asked if Sven and he were related since they shared some traits. He’d chalked it all off as childish fancy, never thinking back on it again.

Then he thought of his own behaviour towards Sven. The protectiveness he’d felt towards the man, the easiness with which they were together, the fondness that had no reason to be, the way with which he’d accepted Sven tell him only half truths without ever challenging him.

But that didn’t make sense. How had he _known_?

“It’s in your bones,” Sven said, guessing his question. “You know it instinctively. It’s happened in other realities too, with other versions of you. It’s the same with everybody else—Uncle Adam, Uncle Lance; they all sensed they knew me. It’s why Uncle Adam helped when I reached out to him through that deep-web forum talking about conspiracies involving the Galras.”

Keith didn’t understand it, he just _knew_ it was the truth. Hell, even if he refused to believe it, Sven was the picture perfect of a blend between Shiro and him. Everybody had seen it, everybody had commented on it.

“Hell, we have a kid…” Shiro said, eyes huge, face white. “Keith, we have a kid. He’s older than us…”

Keith barely heard him. Suddenly, only one question mattered. He got off the bed, walked to Sven, and grabbed his face to look into his eyes. “Sven, was I good dad to you? Did I beat you? Was I hard on you? Did I hurt you?”

“No! No, dad, you were the best. You were so kind and patient and loving. We were close. You died to save me.”

Keith’s vision blurred so much he lost sight of Sven, of the whole room. He tightened his grip on the other. He didn’t understand his sudden grief—it felt alien, as if it belonged to someone else. His other self from that timeline who’d lost his son, perhaps? It didn’t matter. He pulled Sven into a crushing hug. When Sven burst into tears against his shoulders, he couldn’t stop the tears from sliding down his cheeks. Sven held him tight, body shaking violently. The sobs sounded like the sobs of a tired child who’d been lost and found.

Keith sensed Shiro’s presence more than he heard him approach. Soon, both Sven and he were pulled to Shiro and they both clung to him like a lifeline. Keith felt as if his tears wouldn’t stop. He had no idea why he was crying—he wasn’t even sad. He was simply… relieved, like everything was finally right with the world.

He was a good dad.

“So Shiro and I got married in your timeline, eh?” Keith asked through sniffles.

“Yes. You took his last name, but you gave me yours too.”

Keith’s eyes widened. He pulled back to look at Sven, noting his wet face and red cheeks. “What? You know what my last name is?”

“Yes. Do you want to know it?”

“Yes, yes, please, tell me.”

“You’re Keith Shirogane—”

 

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://matty-macgregor.tumblr.com//) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mattywriter/) if you want to talk :)


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